Beyond The Dimrill Gate

Author’s Notes:  This story is based on two quotations from Lord Of The Rings, which I decided to combine to form a single event:

“I too once passed the Dimrill Gate,” said Aragorn quietly; “but though I also came out again, the memory is very evil.  I do not wish to enter Moria a second time.”

(The Fellowship Of The Ring, Book Two, Chapter Four, A Journey In The Dark.)

‘But when Estel was only twenty years of age, it chanced that he returned to Rivendell after great deeds in the company of the sons of Elrond …’

(The Return Of The King, Appendix A, The Tale Of Aragorn And Arwen)

Third Age, 2951

Chapter One – An Unseen Menace

Elladan turned and waved a final farewell to the lord and lady of the Golden Wood before the final twist of the path hid them from view.  “Well, littlest brother,”  he asked. “Are you looking forward to heading for Imladris again?”

Estel nodded.  “Yes – I will be glad to see my mother again.  She worries.  And Father will be glad to see the two of you in one piece for once!”

Elrohir laughed.  “Remember, we are not quite home yet! But another week should see us there.”

“It will be good to be home – but I have enjoyed this journey with you,”  Estel confessed.  “Thank you.  Maps and stories and Erestor’s teachings told me much about the lands – but to actually see the places I learned of is quite different!  There is so much I never knew.”

It had been a long journey, and had taken many months.  To mark Estel growing to manhood as the rangers counted such things, they had travelled south from Imladris through the foothills of the Misty Mountains – surveying the terrain, collecting information from ranger patrols through the area, and helping Estel to hone his skills.  He was growing increasingly confident in tracking, and in picking out a safe route across treacherous ground.  They crossed the Fords of Isen and passed through the Gap of Rohan into Rohan itself, where they met with the horse lords.  As lords of Imladris and sons of Elrond, they had been welcomed by Thengel himself in the Golden Hall.  From there they rode north, past Fangorn until they reached Lórien itself.  

It was a pity, Elladan reflected, that they had missed Arwen by a mere matter of weeks, but Elrond, for his own unfathomable reasons, had decreed that Estel was not to meet her – not yet.  And so they had delayed their travels until Arwen had returned to Imladris.   As a result, their stay in Lórien had been all too brief, and it was already time for them to leave again.

By late afternoon they reached the borders, and followed the Celebrant upstream towards the mountains.  Elladan drew alongside Estel, and pointed to the cleft in the mountains that marked their route.  “You see the waterfall there?”  he asked.  “It is the Dimrill Stair.  The path climbs steeply beside it, then rises to the pass of Caradhras.”

“Caradhras?  The Redhorn pass?”  Estel questioned.  “Surely that’s where …”  he trailed off uncertainly.

“Where Celebrían, our mother, was waylaid,”  Elrohir said flatly.   “I know.  We do not like to take that route – it holds too many evil memories.  But it is the most direct path from here to Imladris.”

Elladan nodded.  “And we want you to learn, littlest brother – the roads and tracks, the secret ways and hidden paths, the towns and villages, the names of all the places we see.”

“In Sindarin, Westron, and Khuzdul,”  Estel repeated patiently.  “I know, Elladan.”  He sighed, then pointed to the distant peak.  “Caradhras.  The Redhorn.  Barazinbar.”  He swivelled, and pointed to another mountain, its top cloaked in mists. “Fanuidhol. Cloudyhead.  Bundushathûr.  And there – ”

“Enough!”  Elladan cried.  “You have made your point.  You know the names.”  They climbed higher and the path began to rise steeply as dusk fell.  As the track reached a small dell, it widened and levelled out slightly.  Elladan drew to a halt.  “We will stop here tonight, and reach Dimrill Dale in the morning.  By evening we should be well into the pass.”

Behind him, Estel murmured, “Dimrill Dale.  Nanduhirion.  Azanulbizar.”  Elrohir laughed, and Elladan turned to give both his brothers a quelling glare.  They set camp in the dell bordered on one side by the stream, and by rocky scree and stunted, scrubby trees on two more.  Beyond the mountains the sun dipped and vanished, and as if at the shuttering of a lamp, black night fell.  They had seen no game, but saved their provisions for the journey through the pass, and supped on wafers of waybread, handfuls of withered berries gathered from the low-growing bushes, and water drawn from the stream.

Silence grew around them as the breeze died, and the snap and crackle of the fire sounded loud in the quiet night.  Elladan took the first watch, and sat quietly by their little fire as Elrohir and Estel settled themselves to sleep.   He shivered as he gazed up at the mountains above him.  There lay Caradhras and the Redhorn Pass, a place that would always fill him with horror.  Yet as always, he and Elrohir would face their nightmares, and travel through the pass.  To give in to their dread would be to grant the darkness yet another victory.  And, on a purely practical note, it remained the quickest, shortest route between Lórien and Imladris.

As he sat by the flames, feeding the blaze with twigs and small branches, he felt increasingly tense and uneasy, and kept turning to look over his shoulder – not up at the pass, but towards the head of the valley.   Elrohir and Estel were restless too, and tossed and turned as they slept.  Whatever shadow hung over this valley was affecting them as well.  He had been a warrior for long enough – too long to ignore this growing disquiet.  He trusted his instincts.  It was not imagination, nor lingering memories of Caradhras that so chilled him.

The longer he sat here, peering out into the darkness; the longer he listened to the intense silence; the more his sense of dread grew.  He got to his feet, pacing the edge of the dell, searching the night for some clue.  Where did this foreboding come from?  It was nothing like the visions that at times afflicted him.  The visions came in the form of images – pictures of the future, of what might occur, flashes of who, where, when – though nothing he saw was ever clear.  What he felt now was something he had never experienced before.  But what was it?  Where was it coming from?

He closed his eyes briefly, and turned slowly, gradually coming to face the direction that held the source of his unease.  Opening his eyes again, he found himself looking  not at the cleft in the mountains that marked Caradhras, but towards the rough, long-broken track that led to the ancient Dwarf realm of Moria.

Once there had been a thriving city beneath the mountains, and well-travelled paths led east and west to Hollin and Tharbad, northward to Dale, and south to the lands of Gondor.  They had been busy trade routes, and dwarves had once been frequent, welcomed visitors to Imladris.  But the mines of the Dwarrowdelf had long since been abandoned, amid rumours of an unnamed evil that the Dwarves had awoken.  The roads became empty, trade infrequent, and while Durin's folk were still welcome, they rarely came to Imladris now.

He found himself wondering just what it was that the Dwarves had disturbed so far below the Misty Mountains.  There was a restless malice there, like nothing he had felt before.  His father, perhaps, would know it – or at least suspect – but he had no idea of what may lurk in the deep places of the world.

As he pondered, Elrohir became increasingly restless, and before long, he flung back the cloak that covered him, and joined Elladan by the fire.  “I cannot sleep,”  he whispered.  “I do not like this place – something feels wrong.”

Elladan nodded.  “I know.  But I cannot tell what.  El, I want you to listen, then tell me where you sense this darkness coming from.”

Elrohir sat quietly, his head tilted slightly to one side, then raised his hand and pointed towards Moria.  “There,”  he said in surprise.  “Not Caradhras as I thought – though I have never felt this sense of darkness even there.”

Elladan sighed.  “I feel it coming from there as well.  I just wanted to see what you thought.”

“Have you foreseen anything happening there?  Any visions?”

Elladan shook his head.  “No.  Nothing.  And I do not know if that is for good or ill.  But something is wrong there.” 

As Elrohir nodded, Elladan peered into the darkness that surrounded them, and listened again, his senses alert.  All was quiet.  Indeed, it was too quiet – all the usual, familiar nocturnal sounds were missing.  “Can you hear anything?”  he whispered.

Elrohir shook his head.  “No.  And we should be able to.  But there is nothing – no birds, no animals.  Nothing.  All the creatures have fled, and any that remain are silent.”

They sat in silence, staring into the night as the sense of oppression deepened.  After a short while Estel joined them, looking dishevelled and tired.  “You cannot sleep either?”  he asked.  “What is wrong here?  There is a sense of – of some evil I have never felt before.”  He paused.  “It comes from Moria, doesn’t it?

Elladan nodded curtly, then turned his head and cupped his hands around his mouth.  He gave a low call like the hoot on an owl, then repeated it twice. 

Estel stared at him questioningly.  “Was that a signal?  Who are you calling?” 

“The Lórien patrols.  If any are near, they will answer that, and we can meet them.  They may know something …”  he stopped as another owl responded, its cry subtly different in tone, but faint and far-off.   Nearby, a third owl hooted from a little way down the valley.

“That way,”  Elrohir stated, pointing south, in the direction of the second call.  He kicked dry soil over the fire, and bent to collect his pack.

“That way?”  Estel echoed.  “Why?  That last call sounded much closer.  Surely it would be quicker to meet with that patrol?”

Elladan grinned.  “That, littlest brother, was a real owl.  I fear we may have confused it.”

They broke camp quickly, and urged the horses up the side of the dell, skirting the loose rock.  In the dead silence, even the breathing of the horses sounded too loud.  Riding slowly over the uneven ground, they made their way across the trackless foothills and steep slopes for a few miles.  At length, Elladan halted his horse and gave the owl call again.  This time it was answered immediately, from near at hand, and four elves emerged from the shadows.  Clad in the soft silver grey of Lórien, they were all but invisible against the rocky terrain.

Elladan dismounted, and stepped forward.  “Greetings,”  he said softly.  The elves glanced from him to Elrohir, and he saw the flash of recognition in their eyes.  They regarded Estel with curiosity.

“Greetings, my lords Elladan and Elrohir.”  The leader nodded in their general direction.  “I am Orophin.  You summoned us to meet with you?”

“Aye.  We have come from the vale of the Celebrant.  There is something – a strange shadow on the land there, a deep unease we all feel.  What can you tell us?”

Orophin looked swiftly at the rest of his patrol, then gestured to a small grove of twisted trees, long dead, growing on the barren hillside.  “Come.  We will sit, and I shall tell you what we have seen.”  He glanced at Estel.  “Who is your companion?”

“This is Estel, our brother,”  Elladan replied.

Orophin stared at them in surprise.  “Your brother?  How can this be?  Lord Elrond has only two sons, and a – ”

Elrohir interrupted smoothly.  “He is our foster brother.  We are related by love, not  blood.”

“Elrond took my mother and me into his house when my father was slain,”  Estel added.

The Lórien elves looked little appeased.  Then Orophin shrugged.  “If he has already travelled through the wood with you, then he is welcome.  Your lady grandmother would have my head if I refused to help you.”  He gestured to his companions.  “Two of you keep watch.  Thalos, join us.”

As they sat in the shelter of the stunted trees, Elladan turned to Orophin.  “You said you would tell us what you have seen.  Do you know something of this shadow?  What is it?  Where does it come from?  What have you seen?”

“My scouts have reported the same shadow as you – an unseen menace that they cannot explain.  Smoke has been seen billowing from vents on the mountain, and there are times when a dull rumbling is heard.”  He paused. “What it is, I do not know.”

Elladan listened to his words in silence.  Away from the darkness of the Dimrill Dale, he had almost been able to make himself believe that the shadow and forebodings were borne of the deep disquiet he and Elrohir felt at travelling through the pass.  Estel, used to their moods and knowing the story, could easily have sensed their unease.  Yet if this scouting patrol had seen similar puzzles, then he could not dismiss it so easily. 

Glancing at Elrohir, he spoke what was in all their minds.   “Something beneath the mountain has awoken.”

“Aye.  But what?” 

They pondered the question for what remained of the night, but could draw no conclusions beyond the obvious.  Somewhere beneath the ancient Dwarven realm of Moria an unknown, unnamed evil stirred.  Whether it was the same menace the dwarves had disturbed, or some new threat – or both – its malign influence was already spreading out to corrupt the land.

At last Elladan stirred.  He glanced at Elrohir, then Estel, and saw the same determination in them both.  He nodded, then began to speak, choosing his words carefully.  Technically, in the absence of Galadriel or Celeborn, he and Elrohir had the authority to command the forces of  Lórien – but this would be more tactfully phrased as a request.  “Orophin, my brothers and I will investigate this matter.  Would you return to Lórien, and alert the patrols?  Warn Galadriel and Celeborn of what we plan and have found so far, if you please.  Take our horses as well – we cannot take them into the mines.”

Orophin nodded.   “Yes, my lord.”  He hesitated, then added, “And would you please be careful?  I do not wish to have to report bad news to Lady Galadriel!”

o-o-o

Travelling on foot now, and carrying small, light packs that bore only the most essential items, Elladan, Elrohir and Estel set off northward, retracing their steps to the Celebrant.  Dawn was breaking as they reached the dell where they had first stopped for the night, but the familiar chorus of birdsong was eerily absent.  All around them the land was still and silent.  The only sound they could hear was the soft murmur of the stream that flowed ever downwards.  At the top of a steep track, they reached the source of the Celebrant, a deep well fed by a spring of bitterly cold water.  Refilling their water skins, they clambered on towards the gates. 

As they waited for Estel to catch his breath, Elrohir stared at the sky curiously, then nudged Elladan.  “Look.”  He pointed to a dark cloud that seemed to flow from the head of the valley, a cloud that thickened even as they watched, casting a shadow on the ground where they stood, then swooped on towards Lórien.  “Bats,”  he said blankly.  “They were bats.”

“Bats?”  Estel echoed as he stared after the swarm.  “How could they be?  Bats fly at dusk.  It’s dawn, Elrohir – and they were flying away from the mines.”

“I know,”  Elrohir replied thoughtfully.  “Why?”

Drawing near the gates, they ceased speaking even in whispers, and moved silently into the shelter of a great fir tree.  Nothing stirred.  Even the breeze had dropped, and a heavy silence lay over Dimrill Dale.  Ahead lay a series of steps, the treads smoothed with age and slightly dished in the middle, worn by centuries of heavy dwarven boots.  At the top two great doors lay smashed and broken.   Climbing the steps, they paused on the threshold, and looked back down the vale of the Celebrant towards distant Lórien.

Then, as the sun’s first rays touched the great stone doors, they stepped over the ruin of the doors and entered Moria.

To be continued

Chapter Two – A Journey In The Dark

The early morning sun cast long shadows across the hallway before them, and shone through windows set in the east wall high above their heads.  The hall was deserted.  Dust and debris lay scattered across the stone floor, but there was no sign of life, and no sound from anywhere.   Passages ran off to the left and right and straight ahead, and stairs plunged down to the lower levels, or climbed to galleries overlooking the hall.

They paused just within the doorway, listening carefully.  “Which way now?”  Estel whispered nervously.  He felt apprehensive – and was not sure whether it was reassuring or worrying that Elladan and Elrohir were both clearly ill at ease as well.  Elladan raised one hand, motioning him to wait, then placed a finger to his lips.  Estel waited obediently, watching and listening, but he found his gaze being drawn to the left, where he could see steps leading down – down into the depths of Moria.

Elladan was also studying the steps, and Elrohir, and Estel realised that all three of them could feel the same sense of evil welling up from the caverns.  He tried hard to focus his attention on one of the other tunnels, to see if the same unease affected the whole of this place – but again he felt his eyes drifting to the steep steps on the southern side of the chamber.  He took an incautious step forward, knocking a loose fragment of rubble with his foot.  The clink of stone on stone echoed throughout the hall, reflecting from the walls and high ceiling, sounding unnaturally loud in the dead silence.

He froze at the noise, and Elrohir turned on him with a glare.  “Estel!   Keep still!”  he breathed.  “I shall send you back to Lórien if you cannot be quiet!”

“Sorry!”  Estel mouthed without speaking.  He did not move again, but listened intently to see if anything had been disturbed by his clumsiness.  There was nothing.  The silence hung over Moria as unchanged as ever, as heavy and oppressive as a shroud.

At last Elladan moved, gesturing towards the steps on their left.  “That way,”  he whispered.  He glanced back at Estel and Elrohir.  “Let me go first.  Estel, stay close.”  They moved soundlessly to the head of the steps.  Estel was careful  to pick his way over the loose rock on the ground carefully, and was pleased to note that he made no more sound than his brothers.  They paused again at the head of the steps, and peered downwards.  The stairs ran straight down, growing dimmer and dimmer and gradually descending into utter darkness, until by about the sixtieth step Estel could see nothing at all.  “We will need light,”  Elladan murmured.  “Estel, see what you can find.”

Relieved to be doing something constructive, rather than just following his brothers’ lead, Estel rummaged in his pack and found a torch.  Removing the protective layer of cloth, he struck a spark and lit the torch, then passed it down to Elladan.

Slowly, they began to descend the stairs, which were wide and evenly spaced.   They passed carved brackets on the walls, some of which still held the remains of dry, desiccated torches. Elladan was in the lead, with Estel about three steps above him, and Elrohir at the rear.  It did not escape Estel’s notice that he was in the safest position, but he found he did not mind.  Even with Elrohir behind him, Estel’s back crawled with tension, and he kept imagining creatures with bony, grasping hands reaching out from the walls to grab him and drag him into their lair.  As they moved downward, the sunlight from above faded, and they walked in a flickering circle of torchlight that cast treacherous shadows on the steps. 

A hand closed on his shoulder, and Estel leapt, stifling a cry that he would have been ashamed to voice.  He turned to glare at Elrohir, his heart pounding.  “Don’t do that!” he hissed.  “You scared me to death!”

“Sorry, little brother,”  Elrohir murmured, sounding supremely unapologetic.  “Listen!”

From far below, there was a dull rumble that set the air throbbing.  It was the real first sign since they had entered Moria that something was astir.  “Not imagination after all, then,”  Elladan said softly.

Below them, the steps levelled out for a few yards into a landing before plunging downwards again.  Side passages branched off to the left and right, running straight for as far as the eye could see.  A stench of decay flowed from the passage on the left.  “I think there is something dead down there,”  Estel muttered in distaste.

“Aye.  Long dead, and far beyond anything we can do,”  Elrohir agreed.

Estel peered along the second passage.  He blinked, and looked again.  A faint light showed there – very faint and dim, but light.  “Look,” he whispered to the twins.  They stood tensely, listening again, staring down the steps into the black depths.  As they turned their attention to him, he pointed to the tunnel.  “Do you see that?  What is it?” 

He stepped cautiously into the tunnel.  An eerie greenish glow cast a sickly light on his brothers’ faces, and he realised that the light came from the walls themselves.   He touched the wall curiously.  It was slightly damp, and slimy with algae.  The light came from the algae, he saw – a dim phosphorescent glow that illuminated the passage just enough to see the ground beneath his feet.  “Elladan, put the torch out – or at least move back a bit, so I can’t see it,”  Estel asked.

When Elladan and the circle of light had gone, he could still see Elrohir in the pale glow, standing at his shoulder and studying the algae curiously.  “Interesting,”  his brother commented.  “It does not give much light, but enough to see a little.  And it grows in a straight line.  I wonder …”  He traced his fingers along a section of the wall.  “Yes – feel here,”  he instructed.  “Can you feel it?”

Estel touched the wall where Elrohir indicated.  He could feel a small, regular groove cut into the wall where the algae grew.  It seemed to extend along the wall as far as he could see.  “Interesting,”  he agreed.

Elladan rejoined them.  “What have you found?”

“This,”  Elrohir showed him.  “It must be naturally occurring originally, but it has been grown along these grooves purposely.  I think the Dwarves farmed the algae, to give them light even when their torches failed.”

“Clever Dwarves,”  Elladan commented.  “That could be useful.”  He pointed on down the passage.  “Before we go further down the steps, I want to see where this leads us.  Can you feel a slight flow of air?”

Now that Elladan mentioned it, Estel could feel a faint stir in the air about him.  It came from the far end of the passage, and as he listened carefully, he heard very faint, very distant sounds – much too dim to determine what they were.  Elladan extinguished the torch, and they continued down the tunnel, using the algal light to guide them.  The flow of air grew stronger, and the sounds clearer.  Soon they could hear a rhythmic hammering, and harsh voices raised in a discordant parody of song.

Elrohir stopped.  “Orcs,”  he breathed.  “Be careful. They are still some distance away, I think – but we should keep together.  Estel, stay close.”

“Orcs?”  Estel repeated.  “Is that what we could sense last night?”

Elladan shook his head.  “Not just orcs,”  he said quietly.  “There was something else too.  El and I have encountered orcs often enough – but I have never felt that sense of dread before.  No, whatever lurks here, it is more than just orcs.”

As they moved on, the light grew stronger; and slowly the pale glow of the algae was replaced by the flickering red of torches and firelight.  They moved more cautiously now, alert for orcs moving in their direction or other dangers like patrols or sentries.  Yet the passage remained empty, and they encountered nothing.  Elrohir paused, and scuffed his foot across the ground, looking down at the floor.  “The ground feels gritty – and look, there are no footprints here.  Nothing has come this way for a very long time.  Although the orcs are close, they do not come this way.  Why not?”

“Listen,”  Estel said suddenly.  “Listen to the sounds – the echoes.  They’re in a much bigger cavern – not this tunnel.”

Elladan nodded.  “And not far ahead now,” he agreed.   “They sound close.”  They moved a little further on, and the red glow of firelight grew brighter.  The light ahead wavered fitfully, but did not penetrate far down the passageway.  “Wait here,”  Elladan whispered.  “Let me go first.”

While Estel and Elrohir waited tensely, Elladan edged forward to the end of the passage.  He stopped, and they could see him silhouetted against the dim light, looking down at something.  Half-turning, he beckoned them forward.  “This is why none of them come this way.  It goes nowhere.  Not anymore.”

They stood high up on the side of an immense cavern, with a sheer drop below.  Once, a wooden walkway had run along the cave wall – broken supports still jutted from the rock in places, and here and there rotting planks clung to the beams.  Estel knelt at the edge and peered out and down.   The mouths of other tunnels opened blackly at intervals around the cavern, all of which must have once led onto the walkway.  Now they led only to thin air, and certain death for anyone unwary enough to step out of the passages.

The sound of renewed hammer blows made him look down again.  The mines of Moria were once again in use, for below them, orcs hammered and chipped at the walls, while others loaded the ore into wheeled carts and hauled it away.  The carts made a dull rumbling as they were dragged over the uneven ground, and the orcs chanted harshly as they heaved and pulled.  Moving away from the edge, Estel looked back at his brothers.  “What are they mining?”

“The Dwarves mined mithril here.  There is iron as well, so the orcs could be after that.  Their numbers are growing again, after their defeat at Erebor – they will need weapons, and armour.”  Elladan paused, and glanced own at the orcs again.  “We need to report this at once.  If they are preparing for war, Celeborn and Galadriel must be warned.  The passes will no longer be safe.”

“Wait,”  Elrohir urged.  “There is still more to be seen here.   We have not found all the answers to our questions yet.  I think we should go on a little further.  Estel?”

Estel hesitated.  While he still felt uneasy in this place, and longed to return to the open air and the golden light of Lórien, his sense of dread was tempered by the thrill of exploration and discovery.  What was more, he could not help feeling it would somehow be slightly cowardly to retreat now, when there was more information to gather.     “We should continue.  I think we need to find out as much as we can before we go back.”

Elladan nodded.   “We go on, then.  But stay alert.  I still feel a sense of darkness here – and I do not mean the lack of light.”

They returned to the main stairway and began to descend again.  Elladan lit the torch again, so that they could see their way more clearly, and they began to see more and more passages and tunnels branching off.  At last the steps ended, and the passageway divided into four.  Dark tunnels led off to the left and right, and another lay straight ahead.  Behind them, a narrower passage ran back, parallel to the stairs they had just come down.  At the foot of the stairs there lay a small chamber, its entrance a simple archway.  Stone benches lined the other three walls, and in the centre of the room there was still an iron brazier, most of it crumbled into rust and dust now.   Elladan sniffed.  “The air smells fresher down here,”  he remarked.  From a hidden shaft or chimney somewhere overhead a breath of air came, bringing with it the scent of rain. He held the torch above his head, but the shaft remained hidden.

“Which way now?”  Estel queried as they left the chamber.

The twins both pointed to the right.  “That way,”  Elrohir suggested. 

With a shrug, Estel began to follow them, but then stopped.   He had heard something – but what?  He listened again, but the sound did not come again.  There had been something, though.  He turned, and retraced his steps to the narrow tunnel at the foot of the steps.  “Elladan, Elrohir – wait.  I hear something!”  he called softly.  He slipped into the tunnel.  It was smaller than the others they had explored, narrower and lower.  He had to duck his head slightly to avoid the rough ceiling.  A little of the algae grew here, but only in isolated patches, so it was difficult to see, but somewhere ahead there was a red flicker – either firelight or a torch.  He moved on carefully, and bit back a curse as he knocked his head on a low beam supporting the roof.  Raising his hand, he touched the rock curiously.  It felt gritty, and crumbled slightly beneath his fingers.  It was clearly a different type of rock to that which he had seen in the upper levels. It was damper down here as well.  As he edged along the passageway he could touch the walls on both sides, and the rock felt wet and cold.    All at once he shivered, suddenly feeling the immense weight of stone above his head, and aware of the vast mountain range above that.  He felt very small and insignificant.

“Elladan?  he whispered.  “Do you think we should go on?”

Silence answered him.  He turned, and saw only the dark, narrow tunnel behind him.  “Elladan?  Elrohir?  Where are you?”  he murmured.  “Elladan!  Elrohir!”  he called, as loudly as he dared. The silence remained, and he realised that he was alone. 

He hesitated, fighting down panic.  There was no reason to worry, he told himself.  All he had to do was retrace his steps to where the passageways met, and turn to the right, and he would soon find his brothers.  They were probably looking for him already, and he guessed they would not be too pleased.  About to turn back, he stopped again as he heard harsh, guttural orc voices drawing nearer.  Another passage crossed the end of the tunnel where he hid, and the sounds came from there.  Sheltering behind one of the roof supports, and flattening himself against the wall, he listened intently.  The twins had taught him a few words of the black tongue – ‘You never know when you may need to understand what orcs are saying, Estel,’  – and he might be able to find out what the orcs were doing here in Moria.

To his great surprise, they spoke in the common speech.  He recalled Erestor telling him how orcs of many tribes had come together for the Battle of Five Armies.  If these were the remnants of that battle, Westron could well be the only language they had in common.

“I tell you, I could smell somethin’!”  one grunted.  “Just now, when I was comin’ past the steps.   Elf, I know it was!”

Estel froze in dismay.  The orcs knew they were there.  But just how much more did they know?

“Now, I knows we’re supposed to take ‘em straight upstairs,”  the orc continued.  “But if we catch ‘em, why don’t we have some fun with ‘em first?  It won’t matter – they’ll be dead soon enough, anyway!  Too soon, usually,” it added in a regretful tone.

Estel shuddered.  He knew what orcs did to captives.  The orc spoke so casually of torture and mutilation – the torture and mutilation of him and his brothers.  He had to warn them.

“That’s a very interesting remark,”  a second orc sneered.  “I may have to report that.  Thinkin’ of disobeying orders, are yer?”

“Orders?  From that lot upstairs?  Why should they get all the fun?  I just reckon it’s our turn!”  It sniffed, then sniffed again.  “Hold on.  I can smell it again!  Down ‘ere.”

Estel began to back away as the orc’s looming shadow darkened the end of the tunnel.  The orc spoke again, sounding gleeful.  “Well.  Here’s one of ‘em – and he’s all on his own!  What was that you was saying about orders?”

The second orc grunted.  “Orders?  I don’t remember no orders.  Bring him out here, an’ let’s see what we’ve got!”

To be continued

Author’s Notes:   Bioluminescence is a naturally occurring phenomenon in some algae, fungi and creatures.   A light-emitting algae growing in caves that provides enough illumination to see by is only a slight stretch of the imagination!

Chapter Three – Disaster Strikes

Estel edged away again.  Fear surged through him – what could he do?  His first instinct was to run; but he knew that here, in this narrow, low-ceilinged tunnel, he could not possibly evade the orc.  All too soon he would feel the thrust of a sword in his back and be killed.  Even worse, he might not be killed – and then the orcs would be free to have their ‘fun’.  The very thought made him shudder.  He knew too, without any doubt at all, that Elladan and Elrohir would search every stone and tunnel and cave until they found him; and would risk or even sacrifice their own lives to save him from his stupidity.  He did not want to bear that responsibility.  Even if he did escape, the orcs would be left free to report to their leaders ‘upstairs’ – and then the hunt would be on.  

He had only one option.

It took a mere eye-blink to reach his decision.  His hand tightened convulsively on his dagger, and he leaped forward, drawing the knife as he moved.  His attack startled the orc facing him, and it did not even have time to raise its own sword in defence before he slashed his dagger across the creature’s throat.  It gave a gasping cry, and staggered backwards into its companion.  Stepping over the fallen orc, Estel faced the second.  It glanced dispassionately at its comrade, then back at Estel and gave a leer.  “Feisty, are yer?  Good – that’ll be more fun for me!” 

It lunged at him, its short sword held low, and stabbed it towards his stomach.  Swaying to one side – there was no room to leap out of the way – Estel dodged the sword, and moved closer to the orc, seizing its wrist and slamming its hand hard against a projecting stone in the wall.   The orc gave a snarl of pain and dropped the sword with a clatter.  He still held his dagger, and he thrust it forward under the creature’s ribs, driving the blade hilt-deep up and in as hard as he could as the orc gave a shrill cry.  A gush of black blood poured out over his hand and he jerked back in disgust, stumbling over the body of the first orc and falling backwards.

The training that Glorfindel, the twins, and even Elrond had instilled into him so patiently – and at times not so patiently – drove him to roll and surge to his feet before he even knew he had fallen; but the danger was gone.  Both orcs lay dead at his feet, dark blood pooling about them.  Apart from his own harsh breathing, silence hung in the tunnel, and he listened intently for any sound, any indication that the brief fight had alerted orcs – or anything else – to his presence.

The silence remained, and he stared down at the dead orcs, feeling a little sick.  Their stench and the smell of their blood choked him, and he swallowed the bile that rose in his throat.  He had never killed before, and had only once before had to fight for his life.  He and his brothers had been attacked by outlaws as they crossed the borders of Rohan – but when Elladan had slain their leader, the others fled in dismay.   Now, he felt as if he had crossed some invisible threshold into adulthood.

He shook his head to clear it of such fanciful musings, for the danger might not yet be over.   Stepping over the bodies in distaste, he moved to the end of the tunnel and cautiously peered out into the other passageway before emerging.  It was deserted and silent.  In one direction the passage curved slightly to the left, and in the other it ran straight, sloping slightly downwards, to where a torch showed the tunnel branching into two.   Another torch burned on the wall beside him, casting a wedge of black shadow across the tunnel entrance.

He knew he could not explore further.  Moria was a maze of twisting, interconnecting tunnels and passages, and it would be easy to become hopelessly and permanently lost.  He had to retrace his steps to where he had last seen his brothers, and could only hope that they would refrain from killing him.

Returning to where the orcs had fallen, he held his breath as he bent and dragged the bodies further in.  He was not sure if they would be missed, but would delay discovery for as long as he could.  Here they would be out of sight in the darkness unless anything actually came down the tunnel.  The dagger was still clutched in his hand, the blade black with blood.  His hand, too, was foul and grimy, and he wiped it shakily on the orc’s clothing before cleaning his dagger as best he could. 

Straightening, he looked around.  He could still barely see in the dark tunnel, but was satisfied that the orcs were hidden as well as they could be.   He turned and retreated back down the passage.  As he neared the end he tensed again as his ears could a soft whisper of sound – the sound of a dagger being drawn somewhere ahead.  At the end of the tunnel the light was slightly stronger, and by it he could see a dark shadow approaching him.  He tightened his grip on the dagger and waited, ready to fight again, when he recognised the figure. 

It was Elrohir.  He let out a sigh of relief, then tensed again as he saw the utter fury in Elrohir’s expression.

o-o-o

As they left the foot of the stairs, Elrohir followed Elladan silently.  The evil they had sensed before hung all around him, tainting the air with its malice.  They were still no nearer finding the source of the malevolence, but he somehow felt it drawing closer.  He felt tense and ill at ease, and found himself looking at the walls and roof for anything lurking and spying there.

There was almost a complete absence of any sound in the tunnels now.  The silence was broken only by a faint drip of water filtering through the rocks, and their own soft breathing and footfalls.   Suddenly it struck him that he could hear only two sets of footsteps – his own and Elladan’s.  He could not hear Estel, who had been behind him

only minutes before.

He spun around, and peered back along the tunnel.  His eyes were accustomed to the gloom now, and in the faint light of the algae he could see that the passage behind him was completely empty.

He had a sudden clear memory of a terrifying story he had heard as a young warrior once long, long ago; about an unseen, unnamed menace that had stalked a patrol, picking off the hindmost elves one at a time and silently whisking them away to an unknown but hideous fate.  He shook his head against such foolishness, and called to Estel softly. 

“Estel!” he repeated, as loudly as he dared.   There was no reply, and he turned back towards Elladan.

The passage in front of him was empty too.

There was a split second of mindless horror – the story was true! – before he controlled his vivid, unruly imagination with a muttered curse.   Elladan appeared from the shadows further down the tunnel.  “Estel?  Where is he?”  he demanded sharply.

“I do not know.  One moment he was behind me – and the next he was gone,”  Elrohir replied tersely.

“And you did not notice?”  Elladan snapped, his voice sharp with worry.  “Come – we go this way.”  He jerked his head back down the passageway.  They searched swiftly, calling quietly but receiving no reply.  The tunnels distorted the sound of their voices, and echoes came back at them from odd directions.  Narrow side passages branched off the main tunnel, but all were silent save for the echoes.  Some were blocked by debris and filth, and others obstructed by collapsed roofs and walls.  There was no sign of Estel in any of them. 

By the time they reached the base of the steps that led down from the upper levels, Elrohir’s heart was thumping.  Where was Estel?  He could have fallen victim to some hidden horror, the same evil they had come into Moria to find.  Or he could have become lost, and was even now wandering aimlessly, drawing ever further away from them,  deeper and deeper into the black void of the mines.

Elladan stared back up the stairs, and along the other tunnels.  “Look down there,”  he instructed, pointing to the narrow passage that led back beside the steps.  “I will go this way.”  He glanced at Elrohir.  “El – be careful.  I do not want to have to search for you as well!”

“We will find him,”  Elrohir vowed.  “We must.”

Elladan nodded grimly.  “Aye.  And if I find he has wandered off, I will kill him myself, and save the orcs the trouble!”

Elrohir nodded, recognising the fear and worry underlying his brother’s anger.  “We will find him,” he repeated.  He set off up the tunnel.  It was narrow and low-ceilinged, and he had to stoop low.  The tunnel was damp, and smelled of moisture and stale air – and something else.  There was a bitter, metallic smell that he was only too familiar with.  Orc blood.

There was a slight sound ahead, and his knife was in his hand before he was even aware of it.  He held his breath, listening, and stiffened as he heard a soft footstep.  A figure appeared just before him and he tensed before letting his breath out with a sigh of relief. 

It was Estel

The relief that flooded him was replaced by a wave of anger at his brother’s idiocy, and he stepped towards Estel angrily.  “Balrog’s balls, Estel!  Where have you been?”  he hissed in fury.  “Come here!”  He seized Estel’s arm and dragged him forward.  “El!  I found him!”  he called quietly.   Turning back to Estel, he glared at him.  “Where have you been?”  he demanded again.

Estel batted Elrohir’s hand away.  “I thought you were behind me – I asked you to wait,” he pointed out.  “Elrohir, listen to me!”

As Estel spoke, Elladan emerged from one of the other tunnels and joined them.  He regarded Estel silently.  “Well.  What have you got to say for yourself?”  he asked at last in a cold voice.

“I heard something – orcs.  There were two of them – they knew we were here, Elladan, they smelt us!”  Estel explained rapidly.  He sounded rather panicked. “And if they knew, there may be others.”

“Orcs?  Where?”  Elladan demanded sharply.  His hand dropped to grip the hilt of his sword, and he turned to look swiftly down the tunnels.

Estel pointed.  “Back there.  But they’re dead – I killed them,”  he explained.  “They would have raised the alarm.  I don’t know how long it will be before they’re found, though.”

Elrohir stared at him, his worry and anger beginning to be replaced by concern for his brother.  “You killed them?  Well done.  But Estel, are you hurt?  Did any of their weapons touch you?”

“No.  One tried to stab me, but it missed.”  Estel’s hand drifted to his side, and his eyes widened as he found a long, jagged cut in his tunic.

“Let me see that!”  Elrohir demanded tersely.  He pulled the tunic up and touched Estel’s side, then gave a sigh of relief.  “You were fortunate.  It did not break the skin.  Their weapons sometimes have poison on them – even a scratch can kill if you are unlucky.”

Elladan returned his gaze to Estel.  “Never mind that now.  Estel, what were you thinking of, wandering off like that?  You know better!  You could have become lost.  You could have been killed.  You could have led the orcs straight to us.  You could have disturbed whatever else it is that is lurking down here!”  He sighed, and shook his head.  “Estel, you are not a child.  You know we face dangers here – but if  you cannot obey orders, I will take you back to Lórien myself!”

“Enough, Elladan!”  Elrohir said sharply.  “Leave it.  This is not the time, nor the place to discuss this.  Leave him.”

Elladan drew breath to respond, then stopped.  He spat an exclamation of disgust instead, and glared at Elrohir, then Estel.  Finally he shrugged, obviously making an effort to rein in his anger. “Come then,”  he snapped.  He set off again without a backward glance.

Estel hesitated, staring after Elladan in dismay.  Elrohir touched his shoulder briefly in reassurance.  “Come, little brother.  We had better not be left behind!”

Subdued and silent, Estel followed him.  The tunnel ahead twisted and turned, with side passages branching off at irregular intervals.  As before, many were blocked, but some climbed steeply upwards, or gave onto stairs plunging even deeper into the roots of the mountains.  The silence and oppression grew ever stronger, and Elrohir felt his skin crawl.   Estel drew a little closer to him.   “Elrohir?”  he said softly.  “I’m sorry.  It was foolish.  I should have stayed with you.”

Elrohir sighed.  “Yes, you should,”  he agreed mildly.  “I do not know what put it into your head, or your heart, to do that.  But perhaps it has turned out for the best.  You said the orcs knew about us.  If they had raised the alarm, every orc in Moria would have been after us.  We would have had little chance of escape.  But it was dangerous.  If they had caught you …”  he shivered, haunted by memories, then turned to smile at Estel. “You did well, little brother.”  He ruffled Estel’s hair in the way he had always done – the way he knew Estel hated –  and placed an arm around his shoulders.  “You did well.”

“Did I?  I was terrified,”  Estel admitted.  “Elladan was right.  I should have listened to you.  I should have followed orders.”  He sighed.  “He is so angry!”

“He was worried.  Well, we both were, but El holds himself responsible for all of us.  He says it is because he is the oldest.”

Estel grinned.  “I know.  It’s why he always calls you ‘little brother’.”

“And Elladan, as he likes to remind me, was born first.   It makes no difference really – we are twins, and that is all that matters.”  Elrohir glanced ahead at Elladan, and shook his head.  “Do not take it to heart, Estel.  He worries – and when the danger is over, the relief he feels turns his fear into anger.”   He grinned at Estel.  “It is usually directed at me, when he feels I have taken some foolish risk!”  He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.   “One day, I will tell you about our first patrol.  It was very nearly Elladan’s last!”

Elladan clearly heard this comment, for his back stiffened.  He said nothing, though.  Estel, clearly aching with curiosity, stared at Elrohir.  “Really?  What happened?  What did he do?”

Ahead of them, Elladan threw a glance over his shoulder.  “Estel, stop chattering!  Now hurry!”

They walked for several hours, penetrating deeper and deeper into the mines; all the while keeping track of the branching tunnels and passages.  The sense of darkness and foreboding that they had all felt the night before still lured them on.   The shadow had grown and spread, dissipating throughout the mines, and it now hung over them like a cloud, formless and shapeless.

At times they passed junctions where two or three main thoroughfares crossed, and often there were small guard rooms set up to watch the passages.  Although it was impossible to tell in the interminable darkness and silence, it was surely past nightfall when at last they stopped by one of the guard rooms.

“We will rest here for a few hours,”  Elladan announced.  “It must be night outside.”  He thrust the torch into the remains of a rusted iron bracket and turned.  “Estel, get the beds ready.”

Silently obeying Elladan’s command, Estel began to place their bed rolls and blankets against the walls of the tiny chamber.  Elrohir watched for a moment, then rounded on his brother.  “Elladan, what is the matter with you?  When are you going to stop punishing him?”

“I am not punishing him!  But he has to learn that this expedition is not a stroll through the woods of Imladris for a picnic.  There, it did not matter when he kept wandering off – it does here!  Elrohir, he could have been killed – or worse!”

“I know that!  Do you think he does not?  Can you not see that?”

“He is not a child, Elrohir!”

Elrohir nodded.  “No.  He is not a child – so stop treating him like one!  He is young though – he made a mistake, and will learn from it.  Can you tell me that you have never made a mistake?”

Elladan flung his hands up in disgust.  “Ah!  You are as bad as he is!”  he snapped.

Estel joined them.  His face was strained, and he was trying hard to look as if he had not just heard every word of their argument.  “Elladan.  Elrohir.  Let me take the watch tonight.  Please.” 

“No!”  Elladan snapped monosyllabically.

Elrohir hesitated.   He was reluctant to agree to the request – Estel needed the rest far more than he or Elladan did – but Estel was clearly anxious to make amends and assuage his guilt.  He needed to prove himself worthy of their trust.  “Yes,”  he agreed at last.  “You can take the first watch.  El, let him do this!”  he added swiftly to forestall Elladan’s anticipated protest.

Elladan gave Estel a long, considering look, then nodded curtly.  “Very well.”  He sighed.  “Estel – if you hear anything, anything at all, wake us.  Do you understand?”

Estel shot him a dark look.  “Yes, I think I can manage that,” he responded stiffly.

Elrohir gave Elladan a glare of his own, and sighed.  “Goodnight, Estel,” he said pointedly.  He dozed restlessly, still uneasy at the looming oppression.  He and Elladan had been in some dark, unpleasant places many times before, but none had affected him like this.  It was the not-knowing that troubled him most – the evil surrounding them felt totally unfamiliar.  He wondered again what – if anything – they would find.   But if they did not find anything the next day, or the next, then they would have to return to the outer world and send word to Lórien.  They could not wander aimlessly in this dark warren for ever.

He had not slept for long before he became aware of Estel standing over him.  “Elrohir.  Elladan.  Wake up – I can hear something!”

Elrohir came alert immediately.  Estel was already standing by the door of the chamber, peering out into the tunnels that merged there.  Elrohir and Elladan joined him, listening carefully.  The sound was faint but clear – and unmistakable.  It was the heavy tramp of many booted feet – orc feet.  The sound echoed and reverberated off the walls and roofs for the tunnels, seeming to come from all directions at once. 

Elladan listened, then pointed.  “That way.”

“No, that way,”  Estel corrected him.

Elrohir listened again, and his heart sank.  His brothers were both right.  Two separate groups were approaching them.  “Both ways,”  he confirmed. 

“Move out,”  Elladan whispered.  “We do not want to be trapped here.”

Estel was already stowing their bedding, shoving it carelessly into the packs.  “Ready,” he breathed. 

They left the guard room silently, and moved to a narrow, dank passage littered with loose, crumbling rock.  It appeared unused.  Elrohir ventured further along the tunnel, but did not get far.  It ended in a sheer drop, as before, opening onto a cavern even larger than the one they had seen before.  Orcs worked at the rock face with pickaxes and hammers – and watching them, directing the work and overseeing collection of the worked ore, were other orcs, much larger than the workers, and a group of trolls.  Elrohir stared down into the cavern for a moment, then drew back into the shadows.  “They will not be coming this way,” he whispered.  “It is dead end.  But there is another cavern back there – orcs and trolls as well.  And there was a breed of orc I have never seen before.”

Elladan considered this information.  “We should follow them,” he decided. “I want to find out where they are going, and what they are doing.  And if there is a new breed of orc …” –  he stopped and gazed at Elrohir and Estel – “Who is creating them?”

Elrohir nodded.  “We do not attack unless they detect us,” he agreed.  “We need to find out.  Estel?”

Estel also nodded in agreement, and they retreated a little further down the narrow, damp tunnel.  There was a sharp, musty smell, and the walls gleamed with moisture.  Despite their mutual agreement, Elrohir held his sword half drawn, poised to fight.  It irked him to wait meekly while orcs passed by so very close.

The thud of the orcs’ feet grew louder and nearer, and he could hear their low, growling voices.  A dim, flickering glow grew brighter as they approached.  He tensed, controlling his instinctive urge to leap forward and attack by calling on long years of discipline and training.  The first group of orcs had nearly passed them when one paused near the end of the tunnel.  It stared around in the flickering light cast by the torches they carried, and sniffed.

An orc behind gave it a violent push.  “Hey!  Get a move on!”  it snarled.  “I wants to get back!”

“Wait!”  the first orc hissed.  “Can’t you smell it?  Somethin’ like elf – but not quite.  There’s somethin’ else as well.”

“Elf?”  the other queried.  It licked its lips.  “Where?”

Elrohir did not wait to be discovered.  He, Elladan and Estel burst out of the narrow passageway, swords drawn, and launched the attack.  The two speakers were dead before either could voice another word.

The battle was brief and bloody.  Orcs were vicious fighters, and these were no exception.  They were no match for the skill of the twins and Estel, though, and soon the first patrol lay dead.  The second troop, drawn by the commotion, pressed forward more slowly and reluctantly.  As they watched the slaughter of their comrades, two orcs at the rear of the group gave shrill cries of dismay and fled.

With a lightning movement, Estel drew an arrow and fired.  One orc dropped to the ground with a rasping gurgle.  The other gave another screech and darted into one of the many side passages.   Elladan pointed after it.  “El! Do not let him get away!”

Elrohir nodded and turned.  He ran after the creature, but the low-ceilinged passage twisted and curved, making it impossible to draw his bow.   At last he stooped and pulled a dagger from his boot, throwing it at the fleeing orc.  The dagger caught it at the back of its neck, just above the thick leather jerkin it wore. 

The orc fell without a cry, stumbling forward into one of the roof support beams and knocking it aside with a crash.  As Elrohir reached it he dropped to one knee, groping with distaste at its filthy neck for a pulse.  The creature was quite dead, its open eyes gazing sightlessly at the ground.  He tugged the dagger free and wiped it on the orc’s grimy sleeve with a grimace.

Estel joined him, glanced down at the orc briefly, then ventured further down the tunnel to listen for any further sound of pursuit.  He turned back to Elrohir and shook his head.  “Nothing,”  he whispered.  “I cannot hear anything.  He cannot have alerted the others.”

Elrohir glanced up as he gave his dagger a final clean and returned it to his boot.  “Good,”  he began softly.  He blinked as grit and dust drifted downwards, and raised one hand to shield his eyes.  The shower of debris increased, and he glanced upwards at the roof of the tunnel.   Estel looked up as well, and he gave a cry of alarm. 

“The roof is collapsing!”  he cried. “Elrohir, get aw …”

Elrohir heard nothing more of the warning, for a thunderous roar echoed in the narrow tunnel.  A cloud of dust enveloped them, and the rain of small rocks, stones and coarse sand intensified.  He coughed, choking on the dust as it filled the air and blinded them both.  Then the roof of the tunnel, already weakened by the constant trickling water, and further damaged by the fallen support, dropped towards him with a cacophonous crash and he fell.

To be continued

Chapter Four – Reunion

Elladan turned sharply at the rumble and thunder behind him.   The movement brought him face to face with another orc, and he ducked to avoid a blade aimed at his neck.   He killed the creature, and span back again to finish his final attacker before turning once more.  A wave of dust billowed from the mouth of one of the tunnels, and a stench of fetid air. It was the tunnel where Elrohir and Estel had pursued the fleeing orc, but was now dark and silent.

“Elrohir!  Estel!”  he shouted desperately – then clamped his mouth shut.  Whatever had happened, he would not alert any remaining orcs more than he could help.  Swiftly he bent to inspect the fallen, ensuring that they were all dead.  He would not risk a knife in the back while he tried to find out what had happened to his brothers, but the creatures were all dead.

Finally he allowed himself to return to the tunnel which had collapsed.  The tunnel where Elrohir and Estel were trapped.  He already knew that they had been caught in the rock fall, for there was only a blank emptiness in the corner of his mind where he usually felt Elrohir’s constant, reassuring presence.  He knew his twin was unconscious – but not dead – but knew nothing about Estel. 

Thinking of Estel filled him with guilt.  His last words to him had been so full of anger – but his anger had not really been directed at Estel himself, but more at his foolhardy actions.  He bitterly regretted his angry words now – and could only hope that he would be able to apologise.  Yet before he could do that, he first had to find  his brothers – both of them.

Wooden supports and lintels shored up the entrance to the tunnel, but only a few feet away a mound of rubble completely blocked the passageway.  Somewhere beyond that, Elrohir lay.  He stared at the rock fall, forcing himself to think rationally.  Elrohir had pursued the orc into the tunnel, and Estel had followed him.  The sounds of their pursuit had then faded, so they had presumably travelled some distance down the tunnel.  The initial collapse had most likely been caused by some sort of struggle or scuffle, but it looked like it had brought down the roof of the whole tunnel.

Elladan’s first instinct was to start digging, moving rock and rubble with his bare hands until he reached Elrohir and Estel.  Yet with the amount of rock he judged had fallen, that would take days – and he did not have days.  There had to be a different way – a better way.  His best course of action would be to make his way through the branching maze of tunnels and try to reach them by another route.  All he had to do was to avoid prowling orc patrols, keep himself from becoming hopelessly lost, and trust that he would be able to find his brothers again in this nightmarish place. 

He sighed.  Oh yes, it all sounded so simple.

Stepping back, he stared at the bodies littering the passageway.  It was impossible to disguise the fact that a fight had taken place, and he had now lost all chance he had had of keeping his presence secret.  And yet – he looked at the orcs again thoughtfully.   They lay where the two passages merged, and where the two patrols had come together.  To a casual glance, it might appear that they had attacked each other.   He realised that it was the first piece of luck to come their way in all this long, dark exploration.  If any further patrols came across the carnage, perhaps they would assume that the groups had squabbled over priority of way in the narrow tunnels, or about some other trivial issue.  Such petty, deadly disagreements were hardly uncommon among orcs.

He turned his attention to the blocked tunnel once more, staring at it and those about him, memorising the layout of the passages and the directions they ran in.   To be able to loop around to the other end he would have to carry the map in his head.  He sighed again.  Elrohir was better at this sort of thing – but Elrohir was not there.

As he bent to pick up his weapons, he felt a sudden surge of fear and confusion from Elrohir.   The sense of panic swelled and grew – and then stopped again just as suddenly.  His awareness of Elrohir vanished once more, and Elladan rested one hand against the wall, his heart racing.  What had just happened?   ‘Ah, Elrohir – where are you,  little brother? What is wrong?’ 

It was clear he could waste no more time.  Choosing a passageway that seemed to run in the same general direction, he ran.

o-o-o

Estel reeled back as the roof above him collapsed with an almighty roar.  He cowered against the wall, crouched with his arms over his head, deafened and blinded, and too numb with fear to think.  Dust and stones showered him, and he gasped in pain as something heavy struck his back.  Fortunately it hit the pack he carried, which cushioned the blow, before the stone crashed to the ground.  Finally, as the cascade of rubble eased, he raised his head cautiously, brushing grit out of his hair.

“Elrohir?”  He coughed as the dust caught in his throat, then called again.  “Elrohir?  Are you there?”  He blinked several times, his eyes stinging and tearing from the dust, and as his vision cleared, threw himself forward.  “Elrohir!”

Elrohir lay on his side, motionless, his eyes closed.  He was partially buried under a mound of rock and shattered timber, and covered with a layer of dust, sand, and muddy water.  Estel scrabbled desperately at the gritty debris over his brother’s face, clearing his mouth and nose, then reached out with a hand that shook to feel for a pulse.

He rocked back onto his heels in relief.  “Oh, thank the Valar – you’re alive!  Elladan would kill me if anything happened to you,” he commented inanely.  He took a sharp breath, ashamed of his panicked babbling.  This was not how he had been trained. 

Taking another deep, steadying breath, he pushed his fears and worries aside, and returned his attention to Elrohir, drawing on his father’s teaching.  ‘Focus on the injury, not who is  injured,’  Elrond’s voice lectured, sounding calm and clear in his mind.   He could remember Elrohir quoting the same adage – though his voice had not been entirely steady – as his brother stitched a deep wound on Elladan’s thigh following an accident on a hunting trip for boar.  He had wondered then how they did it, how they could maintain their calm rationality and appear so detached.  Now he began to understand.  They simply did what they had to, and thrust emotion aside.  Now  it was his turn to ignore – if he could – personal feelings and concentrate on the healing.  He used the back of his hand – which was marginally less filthy than his fingers – to touch Elrohir’s face lightly.  “Elrohir?  Can you hear me?” 

There was no response.  Pulling the pack off his back, Estel uncorked his water skin and splashed a little over his hands, wiping as much of the dirt off as possible before beginning his examination.

He ran his hands over Elrohir’s head, and immediately came across a deep gash.  Blood seeped, warm and sticky, between his fingers and congealed in Elrohir’s hair.  He felt around the wound carefully, but could find no sign of any fracture.  His hands moved lower, checking the pulse again, and across his brother’s chest.  Elrohir’s breathing was a little uneven, and Estel already suspected that several ribs were broken.  Finding only two was almost a relief.

From the knees down, Elrohir’s legs were still buried beneath the rubble.  The dead orc lay nearby, but only its arm and hand were visible.  Estel eyed the precarious pile warily.  He had to get Elrohir free as soon as possible, but knew that if he moved too incautiously he could cause more of the rock to tumble down and make matters far, far worse.

Sitting back on his heels, he shook his head in dismay.  “Oh, Elladan, where are you?”  he muttered.  “We need you here.  Elrohir needs you!”  He wondered rather hopelessly where his other brother was, and prayed that he was safe.  Elladan – if he was alive – would be aware that something had befallen his twin, and would be desperate to reach them.  But how?  From the way the roof had started to collapse, and from the prolonged fall of rock, Estel suspected that the whole tunnel was completely blocked.   Could Elladan possibly find his way through the twisting maze of tunnels and reach them by another route?

The part of him that had hero-worshiped his brothers since he had been old enough to follow them throughout the whole of Imladris and pester them relentlessly, said ‘yes’.  The older, wiser part of him said ‘yes – but when?’  He knew without doubt that Elladan would reach them somehow, or die in the attempt – but by then it might be too late.

He pulled his pack closer wearily, and took a small sip of water.  Elrohir’s belongings were nowhere in sight, and therefore probably buried – which meant that they had only half a skin of water between them.  Rummaging through the contents of his pack, he pulled out the pouch of medical supplies that Elrond and his brothers insisted he carried at all times.  It made an odd rattling noise, and he shook it with a horrible sinking feeling, before opening it carefully.  The small glass phials holding herbs and potions and leaves were all smashed, the contents mixed together inextricably, mingled with fragments of broken glass.  Most of the medicines he had were useless, and he had nothing that he could use to help Elrohir.  He could have cried with despair – but knew that would not help Elrohir either.

He had bandages, a day’s supply of water – if they were frugal – and emergency rations of dried meat, dried fruit, and waybread.  There was a tightly-wrapped packet containing a pungent green paste used to calm restless horses, and at the bottom of his pack, carefully folded, a lightweight grey cloak that the twins’ grandmother, Lady Galadriel herself, had given him.  A ‘magic’ cloak, Elladan had informed him, his eyes dancing; turning the wearer invisible.  He sighed, wishing Elladan was there to tease or scold him now, and gently placed the cloak under Elrohir’s head.

“Just wait,”  he whispered. “I am going to move the rocks now, and get you out.  Hold on, Elrohir.”  Cautiously, taking care to remove the rubble bit by bit, and shifting the stones one at a time, he began to clear the rock and debris that trapped Elrohir.  One leg was clearly broken, and he slowed down, working more carefully to prevent further injury.

Elrohir began to rouse, and gave a low moan.  Estel stopped what he was doing, whispering more reassurances, and thumbed Elrohir’s eyelids open.  The pupils contracted slightly, reflecting the faint torchlight, and Estel nodded to himself.  “Good,”  he muttered.  Then he froze.

Torchlight?

Estel twisted round, staring in dismay at the flickering shadows that danced over the tunnel walls.  The light was rapidly growing brighter, and now he could hear the hard crunch of heavy feet approaching.  He began to dig frantically at the rock that still held Elrohir pinned down, but knew there was not enough time.  The orcs were nearly upon them. 

Elrohir groaned again, muttering something, and Estel dropped to his knees, his mouth pressed again his brother’s ear.  “Hush, Elrohir.  Be quiet – you must!  There are orcs coming.  Just be quiet, and I will lead them away.  Please, Elrohir!”

“No … dangerous.”  Elrohir struggled to move.  “No.  Estel …”

Estel could hear the orcs drawing ever nearer.  “Elrohir, be quiet!” he hissed desperately.

“Elladan  …”

Driven to despair, Estel tore open the packet of horse tranquiliser and smeared a little onto the palm of his hand.  Then he clapped his hand over Elrohir’s mouth and nose, holding him tightly as his brother breathed in.  Elrohir struggled briefly, panic flaring across his face, then abruptly went limp.  Estel released him slowly, breathing hard.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry,” he whispered desperately, and brushed tears from his eyes.  He pulled the cloak from beneath Elrohir’s head and flung it over him, covering him completely.  He threw a desperate glance over his shoulder – the orcs were rounding the corner – then looked back at Elrohir.  To his amazement, he could not see him at all.  The grey cloak blended perfectly with the fallen rock, and the outline of Elrohir’s body looked like another pile of rubble.  If he had not known his brother lay there, he would never have guessed.

Estel moved into the shadows and waited, holding his breath.   He was torn by indecision.  If there were too many orcs for him to tackle alone, he would have to try to lure them away.  But that would be fraught with danger.  Somehow he would have to draw the orcs after him, then evade them and double back, and find Elrohir again.  If he was caught, then Elrohir had little chance of survival.  And in the meantime, what if another patrol came by?  Elrohir was trapped,  alone and totally defenceless.   With a sigh, he rejected the possibility unless all else failed.  He could not risk Elrohir’s life like that. 

He waited, scarcely daring to breathe, hoping fervently that on seeing the rock fall, the orcs would either retrace their steps or continue down the one remaining tunnel.  Three orcs emerged from the side tunnel, and stopped dead.  They gazed at the rockfall, and one shrugged.  “Well, we won’t be goin’ that way again in a hurry,”  it commented philosophically.  “We’d better go back, and tell the others.”

“Yeah.”  Another kicked at the dead orc’s outstretched hand.  “Looks like someone got himself squashed.  Still, don’t look like it were one of ours.”

The first orc sniffed.  “I can smell blood.”

“Well, ‘course you can.  This one here’s dead, ain’t he?”

“Nah.  Not that.”  It stepped forward, closer to the fallen rocks, then looked down.  “Here, what’s this?”  It pressed down with its foot, then kicked.  “There’s something here …” 

It ripped back the cloak, then bent and seized Elrohir’s hair, hauling his head up roughly.  “Well, look at this …” it began with a low chuckle, pressing a dagger to Elrohir’s throat.  “Let’s see this one bleed …”

It fell with an arrow through its eye as Estel burst from concealment.  “Leave him alone!”  he shouted.   The other two orcs dropped where they stood.  Estel stepped over the bodies and peered down the tunnel.  There was no indication that any other orcs were about, but he was not going to take any chances.  This seemed to be a fairly well-used route.

He dug through the rest of the rock and rubble pinning Elrohir down, tossing it into the mouth of the tunnel the orcs had emerged from, and gradually blocking it off.   At last Elrohir was freed, and Estel was able to tend to his injuries.  Elrohir was still unconscious, and Estel took advantage of this to examine him more thoroughly.  His leg was broken, though fortunately not far displaced, and Estel cast around for a suitable splint.  There was plenty of wood, but the remaining roof supports were totally unsuitable – heavy, solid pieces of timber that was full of splinters.   The orcs’ arrows were ugly, evil looking weapons, the shafts and arrowheads barbed, and covered with a dark, sticky residue.  Estel scrubbed his hands against his tunic and used as much of the water as he dared to wash his hands clean again after touching them.

In the end he used two of his own arrows – though he now had only three left.  He bandaged Elrohir’s chest and carefully pulled him into the little side chamber, then tucked the grey cloak around him for protection against the chill dampness of the caves.  Finally he sat down in the doorway where he could keep watch, desperately weary and close to tears.  What was he to do?  How could he find Elladan again?  How could he possibly get Elrohir out of these nightmarish tunnels and back to safety?

The tunnel curved away from him, and in the end Estel forced himself to move.  With the passage behind them blocked, nothing could come that way – so Elrohir was relatively safe for the time being.   But what was at the other end?   If a troop of orcs appeared, they would be trapped with nowhere to go.  Wearily he pushed himself to his feet, checked on Elrohir a final time, and set off along the tunnel.

He did not get far.  The tunnel ran without break for a few hundred yards, then ended in yet another sheer drop, overlooking the immense cavern Elrohir had mentioned.  Estel lay flat on his stomach and peered out.  There were only a few orcs and trolls visible now, and the cavern was in near darkness.    Above him, and all around, he could see similar entrances opening onto the cave.  He drew back, and sighed.  Although the dead end meant that no enemy could now approach them, it also meant that there was no escape that way.  They were trapped.

Back in the small stone chamber, Elrohir was still unconscious.  Estel checked him again, then sank wearily to the floor, leaning against the arch of the doorway.  There,  he could still see Elrohir, but could also look as far as possible along the tunnel – for what, he did not know.  Finally he settled into a wary doze, knowing he desperately needed to rest, but still had to be alert to anything that might stir

o-o-o

Elrohir slowly surfaced through layers of pain and confusion, aware of a throbbing headache, a terrible nausea, and an empty silence.  He listened, eyes still closed, slowly trying to establish where he was, and sort nightmare from reality.   He could remember that there had been orcs, and a chase, and the roof falling towards him – then nothing.

As his hearing sharpened, he could hear the very faint breathing of another person – but already knew it was not Elladan.  Estel?  He opened his eyes to the now familiar faint light of Moria, and could just see his littlest brother sitting hunched against a pillar of stone.  His head had drooped forward, his hands rested limply on his upraised knees, and he looked utterly weary and dejected.

“Estel?” he whispered.  His voice came as a dry croak, but Estel heard him.  He raised his head and flashed a sudden smile as he scooted over to kneel by Elrohir’s side.

“Elrohir?”  he asked worriedly.  “Thank the Valar you are awake!  How do you feel?”

“As if a ton of rocks fell on me,” Elrohir murmured. 

Estel grinned, and nodded.  “I’m glad you can joke about it!”  he muttered.  He pulled something closer.  “Here – I have some water for you.  Can you sit up?”

With the help of Estel’s arm beneath his shoulders, Elrohir struggled into a sitting position and leaned back against the wall.  The pounding in his head intensified, and he closed his eyes briefly and swallowed against a wave of sickness.

“Elrohir?  Drink – just a little.”

He took a sip of water and swallowed it slowly, washing the dust and sour taste out of his mouth, then drank again, feeling a little better.  Estel’s voice came again. 

“Elrohir?   I don’t know where Elladan is.  He’s not here.  I don’t even know if …” he stopped.

“He is alive,”  Elrohir said at once.  He groped for the link with Elladan, the pounding in his head making his awareness of his twin more difficult than usual, but he could feel a gnawing anxiety.  “He is worried.”  He smiled suddenly, feeling a wave of relief wash over him as Elladan sensed him.  “A little less worried now, I think; now he knows I am awake.”

Estel shook his head in disbelief.  “I still wish I knew how you do that,” he commented.  “Can you tell where he is?”

“No.  But if he can possibly reach us, he will.”

“I know.  But Elrohir, there is a problem.  The passage is blocked behind us now, and there is only one way out.  The tunnel leads onto the cavern you saw, but high up.  I don’t know how he’ll do it.”  Estel paused.  “There’s another thing.   The rock fall – the pack of medicines I carried was damaged.  The phials are smashed, all of them, and there’s nothing I can give you for the pain.”

Elrohir shook his head, then winced and drew a careful breath.  “I have endured worse – far worse.  Do not worry so, little brother.”  He closed his eyes again, feeling overwhelmingly tired.   He knew his injuries, though painful, were not serious or life-threatening – but they immobilised him very effectively.  If it had been Estel or Elladan, he could have healed them – but neither of his brothers had that particular skill. 

A soft, distant sound carried into the small chamber.  Elrohir tensed and tried to listen.  The pain dulled his senses, but he could hear … something.  But what?

Estel noticed his distraction, and moved closer.  “What is it?”  he murmured.  “Are you in pain?  I wish there was something I could give you, Elrohir – I feel so helpless!”

“Hush,”  Elrohir commanded.  “It is not that.  I can hear something.  Nay, not orcs         ,”  he added swiftly as Estel reached for his sword.  “Not unless they have learned to move as quietly as – as an elf.”  Hope welled in him, and he listened again.  Then he nodded, and gave a sigh of relief.  “It is El,”  he stated simply.  Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes and tried to make himself more comfortable.

“Thank the Valar for that!”  Estel murmured.  Then he moved closer. “Elrohir?  Are you sure?  Because if not …”

Elrohir opened his eyes again, and smiled.  “Estel.  It is Elladan – do you think I would not know?  He must have found a way to us after all.”

“Maybe,”  Estel muttered.  However, as the faint sounds moved nearer, he drew his sword, and flattened himself against the wall next to the doorway – standing between Elrohir and the entrance. “I am taking no chances!”  he hissed defiantly.

A soft whisper, so faint it could scarcely be heard, reached them.  “El.  Are you there?  Estel?” 

Elrohir could have wept with relief.  Despite their plight, he smiled as he called back softly, “Here, El.  We are here.”  He glanced across the little room.  “Estel, you can put the sword down now.”

In a few moments there was a slight footfall outside the chamber.  Estel tensed, his sword still raised,  then slowly lowered it as Elladan ducked through the low entrance.  Giving a swift glance around the room, Elladan clasped Estel’s shoulder reassuringly. “Well done, littlest brother.  Thank you,”  he murmured, then dropped to one knee by Elrohir’s side. 

“Well, little brother.  What have you managed to do to yourself this time?” 

To be continued

  Author Notes:  Many thanks to Nilmandra for the suggestion that the orcs had all killed each other!  It helps explain the rising body count.

Chapter Five – Time Runs Out

“Well, little brother.  What have you managed to do to yourself this time?”  Elladan asked lightly, hiding his concern.   He was overwhelmingly relieved to see Elrohir alert and coherent, and to find Estel all but unscathed – but Elrohir was quite obviously injured.  He leaned stiffly against the wall, one leg outstretched and bound to a make-shift splint of arrows.

Elrohir looked up.  He smiled, but he looked pale and there was still an echo of pain in his eyes.  “El.  You took your time – what kept you?”

Elladan shrugged.  “Nothing much – just a small matter of a rockfall between us, and a few orcs to evade.  Now, what have you done?”  As he spoke he ran swift, professional hands over Elrohir’s head and peered into his eyes, then held gentle fingers over his leg, not quite touching, and examined the unconventional but effective splint.  Although Elrohir tried not to flinch, Elladan did not miss his reflexive movement.  “Broken,”  he muttered to himself.

Elrohir nodded.  “And my ribs.  But Estel has dealt with everything very efficiently.”  He fell silent, breathing shallowly.

Elladan turned to Estel with an approving grin.  “Well, of course he did.  I would expect nothing else.”   He watched from the corner of his eye as Estel swelled with pride, then added slyly, “After all, look who taught him!”

Elrohir laughed at Estel’s expression, then winced and held his breath.  “Stop it El – it hurts to laugh!” he protested weakly.

“Ah, Elrohir – forgive me!”  Elladan murmured, contrite.  “I know it does.”  He turned his head.  “Estel, have you given him anything to ease the pain yet?”

Estel shook his head.  “No.  Nothing.  My pack was damaged by the rockfall, and the phials of medicine smashed.  And Elrohir’s is buried somewhere back there.”  Estel gestured vaguely behind him.

As Estel spoke, Elladan pulled his own pack closer, and began to rummage through it.  “Estel, use some of that broken wood to make a fire.  I need some hot water.  Now, are there any other injuries I need to know about?”

Estel joined him at Elrohir’s side.  “A deep gash here,” he indicated, “but no fracture of the skull, and no concussion either, I feel sure.  Nothing much apart from that.”

Elrohir waved him away in exasperation.  “Stop talking across me as if I was not here – I am not still insensible!”  he snapped.

“A little grouchy, are we?”  Elladan observed.  “Do not worry, Estel – he is always like this if he is ever injured.  Elrohir must be the most disagreeable patient you will ever come across!”  He spoke lightly, deliberately cheerful, in an effort to take Elrohir’s mind off his injuries, and also to ease the anxiety he saw in Estel.  “Is that water ready yet?  The sooner I can mix the medicines I need, the sooner we will be spared his grumbling!”

“Yes.  Nearly.” 

The fire Estel had kindled burned hot and smokeless – there would be no smell of burning to alert the orcs – and the warmth and brightly flickering flames were a welcome relief after the chill dankness and dark of Moria.  As soon as the water began to simmer, Elladan took it from the heat and poured it over a mixture of herbs and crushed leaves before leaving the potion to steep.  As he waited for it to cool slightly, he folded his own cloak into a triple-thickness mattress for Elrohir and spread it on the floor.    He strained some of the concoction into a small cup and passed it to Elrohir, wrapping his brother’s hands around it.  “Drink this.  It is still warm, and will dull the pain and help you sleep.”

Elrohir pushed the cup away mulishly.  “Exactly.  I do not want to be drugged – if the orcs return, I do not want my senses dulled.  We cannot risk it!”

Elladan regarded him with exasperation.  “El, if the orcs do return, you are in no condition to fight anyway!  Drink it.  You will heal more quickly if you rest.  You know that.”

“We cannot stay here until my leg heals,”  Elrohir pointed out.  “The orcs will be looking for us – they know now that we are here.  We have to find a way out.”  Despite his protests, he took the cup again and swallowed, grimacing as he did so.  “The taste has not improved,”  he complained.  “Did you forget the honey?”

“We brought essential items only, remember?”  Elladan reminded him with a grin, relieved that Elrohir was making this token protest.  The day his twin willingly took any form of medicine would be the day he began to worry.

“Honey is essential where your medications are concerned,”  Elrohir grumbled.  He drained the cup, and passed it back to Elladan.  “Satisfied?”  He leaned back against the wall with a sigh, closing his eyes wearily.  The set, hard line of his mouth softened as he relaxed, and  the swift-acting potion began to take effect.  “The roof collapsed,”  he mumbled.  “Estel must have dug me out.”

“Yes, he did,”  Elladan agreed.  “I feel very proud of our little brother.”   He felt his own tension lessening as the gnawing ache of Elrohir’s pain eased, and slid an arm around his brother’s shoulders, helping him to lie down.  He waited until he fell asleep, and only then did he leave Elrohir’s side and cross to Estel’s post by the arched doorway.  He ruffled Estel’s hair, then sank down with a weary sigh to join him on the floor.  “Thank you for looking after him, Estel – you did well.  Very well.”  He sighed.  “And I am sorry I spoke as I did yesterday.  I was worried, but that was no excuse to scold you like that.  You are not a child – and you have just proved it.  Thank you.”

“Well, surely you did not think I would leave him there?”  Estel asked lightly.

“No.  Never that.  But tell me, are you hurt at all?”

“No. I was a little further away, and escaped.  But Elrohir was not so lucky.” 

Elladan listened as Estel described  the scene, and how he had dug so frantically to free Elrohir.  “He was unconscious?”

“Yes, for most of the time.”

“There was one moment …”  Elladan recalled, “when I felt a sudden wave of panic – of fear – from El, quite unlike him.  Then it stopped again, just as suddenly.  What happened?”

He was surprised by Estel’s sudden expression of sorrow and guilt.  “That was when the orcs came.”

“Orcs?  Blessed Elbereth, there were orcs?”

Estel nodded miserably.  “I drugged him – I had to, Elladan!  He was just regaining consciousness, and was trying to warn me – he knew the orcs were coming.  They would have heard him – and if they had found him there, like that, still trapped – I don’t know what they would have done.”

Elladan swallowed sickly.  He knew only too well – and Elrohir’s death would have been as slow and cruelly agonising as all the foul arts of the orcs could devise.  It was that which had finally broken his mother – not her own torment in the Redhorn Pass, but the tortures inflicted on the unfortunate members of her escort, which she had been forced to witness.  He was not sure how long he would have been able to retain his sanity if he had had to listen to Elrohir’s screams echoing through the tunnels and passages of Moria.   He shuddered, and pulled Estel close in a brief hug.  “You did well, littlest brother,”  he whispered.  “Very well.”

Estel smiled at him, but then sighed.  “Elladan, what are we going to do?”  he asked plaintively.  “The tunnels behind us are blocked, and the one ahead leads to a dead end.  There is no way out.”  He stopped, considering his words, and stared at Elladan.  “How did you get here?  Is there another path?”

Elladan shook his head.  “I climbed,”  he explained briefly.  “But that is not an option with Elrohir.  As for what we are going to do …”  He echoed Estel’s sigh.  “I do not know,” he responded simply.  “Elrohir will not be able to move from here for several days.  And even then we still have the orcs to worry about.  And we still have not found what brought us down here in the first place.”  He slammed a fist into the palm of his other hand in rage and frustration.  “This entire trip has been a disaster!  We should never have come here.  And now – ”  he glanced across at Elrohir and sighed again.  “Estel, get some sleep.  I will keep watch.  I need to think.”

After Estel slept, Elladan sat alone, deep in thought.  How were they to get Elrohir out?  They were deep within Moria, and it would take days to retrace their steps to the Dimrill Gate.  They could probably make crutches from the broken roof supports, but even then Elrohir would not be able to move quickly or quietly.  And how were they to even leave this place?  The passages were blocked, and there was no way Elrohir could possibly climb up the side of the cavern to reach another tunnel.

His own journey had been a nightmare of tunnels, dead ends, roof falls and wandering orcs.  Some passages branched off into bewildering mazes, but each route had led further and further away from where he needed to be.  In the end, in sheer desperation after exploring yet another tunnel that ended in yet another vertical drop into the great cavern, he had gone that way; inching his way across the wall like a spider, finding finger and toe holds where none existed, and hoping against hope that the orcs working below would not look up and spy him.  After checking tunnel after tunnel, listening, calling softly and trying to sense Elrohir’s presence, finally – finally – he had found his brothers.

He stretched and yawned, weary from tension and worry, lack of rest, and the ever-present miasma of evil that still hung over them.  As far as he could see, they had few options, all equally dangerous and equally impractical.  They could try to move from this place now, carrying Elrohir between them and somehow negotiating the yawning chasm of the cavern and hoping that they found another tunnel that would lead them out.  They could wait, until Elrohir’s injuries were healed and he was able to move without assistance – but their supplies of food and water were too low.  They could manage with very little food for some time, but not without water.  Finally, either he or Estel could stay to care for Elrohir, while the other left to get help from the Elven patrols of Lórien – and having only just found his brothers after his desperate search, he had no intention of being parted from either of them again.  In any case, no matter what they decided to do, they were left with two major, insurmountable problems – Elrohir’s incapacitating injuries, and how to get out of here in the first place.

A soft voice broke through his musings.  “Elladan?  I thought of one thing I could try.”

Startled, Elladan turned to where Estel lay between the fire and the doorway.  “I thought you were asleep,”  he pointed out.

Estel shook his head.  “No.  I couldn’t sleep.  I’ve been thinking.  There is one way out perhaps – but I don’t know where it leads.  When I was freeing Elrohir, I threw all the rubble into one of the passages to block it off, and to stop any more orcs coming that way.  I could unblock it again – just enough to crawl through – and see what is on the other side.  I might be able to find a way out.”

“No!”  Elladan protested automatically.  “No, Estel – it is too dangerous.  It is not that I do not trust you,”  he added quickly, “but I think we should stay together.  I need you here – Elrohir needs you.  Whatever we do, we do it together.”

“Then what are we going to do?”  Estel asked stubbornly.

Elladan shrugged.  “I still have no idea.  Estel, go to sleep – you kept watch last night, and none of us slept much the night before that.  Rest, and in the morning perhaps things will seem clearer.   Perhaps Elrohir will have some ideas – just because he is injured, it does not mean he cannot think!”

Estel nodded.  “I hope so.”  He lay down again, and for a while Elladan could see the faint glint of his eyes, watching, before the lids finally closed and he slept.

Elladan sat alone in the darkness, alert for any sound or movement.  The only activity sounded faint and distant: far-off voices talking and arguing, the occasional clash of metal or weapons, and once, discordant voices raised in some form of song.  The harsh harmony made him long for the gentle melodies of Imladris, where elven voices mingled with the music of the streams and waterfalls; and softly, his voice no louder than the breath of the breeze on a summer’s day, he began to sing a song he had known since childhood.

o-o-o

“Elladan, what are we going to do?”  Elrohir persisted.  They had breakfasted on a little waybread and dried fruit – though ‘breakfast’ was a rather nominal term, as they had lost all sense of the passage of the sun in the outside world.  The meal had been spent exchanging their stories – Elladan describing his frantic search, and Estel recounting his feverish attempt to free Elrohir.  Elladan noticed that he omitted any mention of having drugged Elrohir.  Elrohir himself had little to contribute, but had many questions about Elladan’s exploration of the tunnels and caves.

“There is nothing we can do yet.  When you are able, we can either take the path that Estel mentioned, or climb up.  That would be best, I think, because we can gain height and reach the upper levels.  We just need to wait.”

Elrohir listened silently, contemplating Elladan’s plan.  “There is an alternative you have not mentioned,” he suggested.  “If I was not injured, we would not be trapped here.  If I was not injured, we would be able to continue our search for this shadow of darkness that still haunts us all.  If I was not injured – ”

“Stop it!”  Elladan commanded.  “I know what you are hinting.  No, Elrohir. It is too great a risk!”

“I am not hinting at anything!”  Elrohir snapped.  “It is the only real solution I can see.  Elladan, we have to get away from here as soon as we can – the greatest danger we face is being discovered and trapped here.  And I am prepared to do whatever I can – whatever I must – to prevent that.”

Estel was looking at them both with puzzlement.  “What do you mean?   Do what?  Elrohir, I wish you would explain yourself, instead of these vague references hinting at something I know nothing about!”

“He means,”  Elladan snapped, “that he thinks he could heal his injuries himself – if such a thing was possible, and not far too risky!   No, Elrohir – we will find another way.  Estel says there may be another way out we can use.”

Estel nodded.   “I’ll go and see if I can loosen the stones at the top.  Maybe I will be able to see where the tunnel leads.”

Elladan stared at him, torn between two equally unpalatable alternatives.  “Very well,”  he said at last.  “But just look.  Go no further than the blockage, Estel – please!”

Estel nodded, and disappeared.  Elladan turned back to Elrohir, squatting cross-legged on the floor beside him.  He poured a little water and passed it to Elrohir.  “I know how difficult this is for you.  I know you feel guilty that your injuries are delaying us.  But be patient.”  He grinned wryly.  “I know you are not good at being patient – but please try?”

“Are you claiming that I am not a very patient patient?”  Elrohir asked with a slight smile. 

“You know you are not.  It is your worst fault!”  Elladan retorted.

“My only fault,” Elrohir replied with dignity.  “It is as well for you that I am not perfect – you would find it impossible to live up to my high standards.”  He shifted uncomfortably, unable to hide a grimace of pain as he moved his leg gingerly.  “Anyway, stop trying to change the subject.   We cannot afford to be patient – how much food and water do we have?”

Elladan sighed.  “Not much,” he admitted.  “Everything you carried was lost in the rock fall.  We cannot rely on finding water down here – even if the springs the dwarves must have used still flow, the orcs are likely to have fouled them.  Do not touch the water!  We have enough water for perhaps two days – three if we are pushed.  No more.”

“And it will take at least a day to get back to the open air,”  Elrohir pointed out.  He glanced at the cup of water Elladan had given him, now empty.  “And you can stop giving me your share, too!”

Elladan did not bother to deny it.  “I hoped you would not notice,” he confessed.   “Do not worry, little brother – there is still time.”

He turned as Estel reappeared in the doorway, beckoning him.  “Elladan?  Come here a moment.” 

Outside, Estel pulled him further down the passageway, towards the rubble remaining from the roof fall.  “Listen,”  he said tersely.

From beyond the blockage, ominous sounds could be heard – voices, and faint hammer blows.  Elladan moved close to the piled stones, and listened briefly.  On the other side, only feet away, the orcs were examining the rubble, and discussing what to do next.  “ … an’ I reckon it won’t take us too long to shift this lot,” one growled.  “Ere, you, go back an’ get some of the lads, then we’ll ‘ave a go at it.  Hurry up!”

 His heart sank.  Their time had just run out.

To be continued

Chapter Six – Physician, Heal Thyself

(Luke 4:23)

Elrohir looked up as Elladan hurried back into the room.  “The orcs have returned,” he explained tersely.  “They have decided to open up the passage Estel blocked off.  We do not have long.”

“Then we have no choice,” Elrohir pointed out.  “I  have no choice.  El, I will need your help.”

Elladan nodded, clearly still not happy about the decision, but accepting the inevitable.  “Of course.  What do you want me to do?”

“I need you,  to block the pain.  I may need to draw on your strength, as well – I do not know how hard this will be.” 

Elladan nodded again.  “You know I will do anything you need.”  He glanced at the rest of the pain-relieving tea he had brewed the night before.  “Do you want any more of this?” he asked doubtfully.

Elrohir shook his head.  “No.  I need to keep my wits about me, and keep my head clear.  That is why I need you.  I want you to block the pain so I am free to concentrate.”

Estel also appeared.  “They have gone for the moment – but they will be back.”  He glanced at the twins.  “Elrohir, are you sure about this?   Do you think you can do it?”

Despite his own reservations, Elrohir nodded.  “Why not?  It cannot be that different.  I have to try, at least.  And what alternative is there?”

“Can a healer heal himself?  Has anyone ever done it before?”

“Not to my knowledge,”  Elrohir admitted.   He recalled a conversation with his father once, long ago, after a moment of spectacular carelessness with his own dagger had left a deep gash across his palm.  With his own healing skills newly discovered, he had watched in fascination as Elrond stemmed the flow of blood and soothed the sharp sting of pain.

“Could – would I have been able to do that?”  he asked curiously.

Elrond shook his head.  “I doubt it.   Very few healers are able to cure themselves – the shock and pain prevents you finding the stillness required.  And it would use your strength and energy when you can least spare it.   It would not be a good idea, even if you could  do it.   Fortunately, I have never been in a situation where I had to do so.”

He sighed, and avoided Elladan’s sharp gaze.  His brother remembered the discussion too. “If this works, we have a much better chance of getting away from this place,”  he continued.  “If not, then we are no worse off than before.”  That was a rather simplistic way of looking at it, he felt, but more-or-less summed up their options.  Most of all, he wanted to be well enough to be able to leave here.  He still felt uneasy in this place,  aware of the taint of evil that still lingered and the vast mountain range that towered far above them.   Yet there was another shadow on his mind, one which he had no explanation for.   Since regaining consciousness, he had been plagued by odd memories of events that could not have happened.  There had been a hideous nightmare of orcs – he had heard their harsh voices, had smelt their fetid stench.  It seemed he could recall trying desperately to warn someone.   But it could not have been real – for in the same nightmare the orcs had seized him, pinning him down, their foul hands clamped across his mouth.  He could still remember the sharp surge of terror at his utter helplessness that had swept through him.

It had not been real,  he told himself again, drawing a deep breath.  It had not been real – yet the memory of the nightmare was still so vivid that even now he could smell the same foul, sickly scent from his dream, a scent that seemed somehow vaguely familiar. 

He shook his head, thrusting all thoughts of the nightmare to the back of his mind.  It had been a fever-dream, a delusion; nothing more.  It would not even be the first time he had experienced such bizarre fantasies, though nothing before had been so vivid or terrifying.

Elladan’s quiet voice broke in on his musings.  “El?  What is wrong?”

“Nothing!”  He sighed, and tried again.  “Nothing.  I just – I just want us to be able to leave this place.  I feel uneasy.”

Elladan stared at him, knowing there was more to his denial, but unsure quite what.  He shrugged.  “Have it your way, little brother.  But remember – you do not fool me!”  Without waiting for instruction he knelt behind Elrohir, placing his arms loosely around him.  “Lean against me,”  he murmured.  “Take what you need.”

Elrohir closed his eyes and leaned back.  The fog caused by the potion he had taken the night before had cleared, and his mind was sharply focused.  He could feel Elladan’s solid strength supporting him both physically and mentally, and once again blessed the fluke of luck and life that had made him a twin.  The pain lessened immediately as Elladan soothed it and drew it away, leaving his mind clear and alert.

Free now of the pain and discomfort of his injuries, he focused intently on his leg, placing his hands on either side of the break.  He was aware of the bleeding and swelling, and concentrated on knitting the broken bones together before turning to the damaged flesh and torn blood vessels.  He was fortunate that it was a clean break, and that Estel had reset it so well, for healing had already begun, making his task a little easier.

He could feel the familiar drain on his strength as he worked and the injury slowly repaired.   He had done this many times before for others, including Elladan, and had also received healing at the hands of his father on more than one occasion – yet it was odd, and rather disorientating, to feel the warm glow of healing coming from his own hands, to be both healer and healed.

Despite his intense focus within, a part of him was still aware of Elladan silently kneeling behind him, and Estel pacing restlessly nearby.  He did not risk healing his leg completely, fearing that to do so would deplete his strength too much.  Already he could feel a growing exhaustion, far greater than he would normally expect after what was a relatively minor healing.  His father, he mused, had been right all along.

Estel still paced distractingly in the doorway, then abruptly vanished.  Elrohir briefly noted his disappearance, but kept his waning concentration on what he was doing.  Suddenly, his exhaustion lifted a little as he felt a wave of fresh energy and strength wash through him as Elladan sensed his need.  Renewed, he turned his attention to his ribs.  The pain and difficulty of breathing lessened immediately, and he drew a slow, deep breath before opening his eyes once more.

He shook his head slightly to clear the cobwebs of weariness that ensnared him, before flexing his leg slowly and carefully.  It was still bruised, swollen, and ached fiercely, but he could move it without undue pain.  Leaning forward, he unbound the arrows Estel had used as a splint – his little brother was proving surprisingly ingenious – then moved his leg again, bending and straightening it several times.

Elladan was watching anxiously, his attention divided between Elrohir and the doorway where Estel had been standing.  “Better?”  he asked.

Elrohir nodded.  “Yes.”  He took another deep breath, then extended his hand to Elladan.  “Help me up.”  He stood carefully, resting one hand against the rough wall, Elladan hovering at his side.  He felt rather dizzy and desperately tired – but he was alive, more-or-less whole, and most importantly, able to move once again.  Now, perhaps, they could find their way out of here.  He took a cautious step, then another, and crossed to the arched door, limping a little, but confident now that his leg was healed enough for him to walk and climb. 

Estel appeared again.  “The orcs have come back,”  he reported.  “They’re arguing about who has to move the stones, but it won’t take them long to break through.”

“Then we leave now,”  Elladan announced. “El?”

Elrohir nodded as Elladan began delving through his pack and produced a length of fine rope.  “We will use this.  Elrohir, you will be in the middle and tied to both of us.  I am not risking you falling!”  He gave him a look that Elrond had, one that demanded – and got –  instant and utter obedience.  Elrohir knew there was no hope of swaying Elladan in this mood, and he was not even going to waste what little strength he had remaining in trying.  He took the rope meekly, fastening it around himself.  It irked him, but he knew he would have demanded the same of his brothers.

They moved towards the open end of the tunnel.  As Elladan tied one end of the rope around his own waist, Estel suddenly darted back down the passageway.  “One moment!”  he called.  “Wait for me.”

“Wait for him?”  Elladan echoed in disgust.  “We should leave him for the orcs!  Now where is he going?”

Estel reappeared with two burning brands of wood snatched from their fire.  He placed them at the base of the last pair of roof supports, where the wood, tinder-dry, began to burn immediately.  Thick smoke drifted back down the passageway, wafted away from the mouth by faint currents of air.  “The smoke will make them cough, and when the supports burn through, the roof will collapse again!”  he announced with satisfaction.  He glanced at the twins.  “Well, what are you waiting for?  Let’s go!”

Elrohir stared at him in disbelief, then glanced at Elladan.  “When did our littlest brother become so very capable?”  he asked with a grin.

“Resourceful, as well,”  Elladan agreed. 

“We taught him well,”  they intoned together.

Estel sighed.  “I wish you would stop doing that!”  he snapped in exasperation.  He took the free end of the rope and knotted it about his waist, then nodded at his brothers.  “Ready,”  he announced.

Elladan moved to the side of the ledge and reached out, finding a secure hand-hold before climbing out onto the cavern wall.  Elrohir followed him cautiously.  He was not happy about the rope, fearing that if he did fall, he would drag his brothers down too.  But when Elladan got that look, there was little point in arguing.  He sighed, acknowledging to himself that his twin had a point.   He still felt far from well, weak and weary – and their goal was a long way away.  He glanced down to the floor of the cave below.  A few orcs worked there, but they were occupied with collecting fallen rock and loading it into carts – and hopefully too busy to look upwards.   Looking up himself, at the expanse of cave wall stretching ahead, he took a deep breath then followed Elladan upwards, clinging tightly to the rock face and gritting his teeth at the ache in his leg.  Ignoring the pain, he concentrated on finding ledges and outcropping stones to place his hands and feet as he climbed.

Slowly they moved up and across the cave wall, aiming for a wide tunnel three levels up where traces of a broken walkway still remained.  Elrohir was moving more slowly now, fatigue dragging at him, and he paused, leaning his head against the rock while he caught his breath.  He would never have believed that the climb would be so wearying, but as he glanced up at the rotting beams that still seemed so far above, he began to wonder for the first time if he would make it.  He drew slow, deep breaths, willing his heart to stop racing, and the black spots dancing in front of his eyes began to recede.

His cramped fingers were locked onto an outcrop of rock, and he had to force them open, slowly releasing his grip and then grimly stretching and reaching for the next crevice, and the next.  Sheer determination drove him now; that, and the innate stubbornness that so infuriated Elladan at times.

The effort needed to prise his fingers free each time before edging ever upwards was growing, and he found himself stopping to rest more and more frequently.   A movement at his side caught his eye, and he turned his head to look.  Estel had drawn level with him while he rested, and now touched his shoulder lightly.  “Keep going, Elrohir – I know you can do it,” he murmured.

Despite his exhaustion, Elrohir felt a glow of pride.  His little brother had grown so much in the last few days, showing a new maturity that suited him well.  “We should be the ones helping and encouraging you,” he protested with a smile as he caught his breath again.

“And you always have,”  Estel replied.  “But now it is my turn.  You know Elladan and I will help you.”

As if in answer, Elrohir felt a slight tug on the rope around his waist, and looked up to see Elladan gazing down at him in concern.  “El, can you manage?”  he called softly.

Elrohir nodded.  “Yes.  Yes, I can,”  he replied firmly.  With a renewed resolve he pulled himself up, began to climb again, and slowly began to draw closer to their goal.

So far they had remained undetected, but a flicker of red was growing below them, and a smell of burning drifted up as Estel’s fire began to rage.  Soon there was a rumbling crash, and Estel gave a muffled laugh of delight.  “I knew it would work!”  he whispered.

They had nearly reached the entrance to the tunnel – Elladan, in the lead, was barely a dozen yards away – when something struck the rock only inches away from Elrohir’s face.  Razor sharp splinters of rock flew out and he jerked back, his cheek stinging, and nearly fell as his foot slipped off its precarious perch.  There was a sharp tug at the rope around his middle, and he gripped the stones more tightly, heart pounding at his narrow escape, and scrabbled to find a new foothold.  Estel gave a muffled curse, and above them Elladan called down urgently.  “El!  Estel!  Keep moving – do not stop!”

Another arrow clattered against the wall near Estel’s hand, and Elrohir saw a spark as the iron tip struck the rock.  Fatigue forgotten now, he scrambled upwards, Estel close behind him, as arrows rained down around them.  The orcs, fortunately, were not very good shots, their short sight not helped by the poor light.  As soon as Elladan reached the safety of the ledge he lay flat, pulling at the rope and hauling his brothers up as fast as he could.  Another wild shot missed Elrohir’s eye by a fraction of an inch, but then they were all safely within the tunnel, drawing back into the shadows, arrows still clattering against the rock all around them.

Elrohir sank down onto the ground, leaning against the wall, his eyes closed.  He could rarely remember feeling so weary, but knew they could not stop, could not rest.  Not yet.  It grieved him to flee, but they were in the realm of the orcs here; the dark, narrow, winding tunnels a perfect habitat for the foul creatures.  He knew he was still far from well, and although he could defend himself and fight if he had to, his reactions would be slower.  His weakness would make him more vulnerable, and could endanger his brothers.

He heard Elladan and Estel talking softly, Elladan in a questioning tone, and Estel, more faintly, replying.  Opening his eyes, he saw Estel peering cautiously over the edge of the ledge.  “They’ve stopped shooting at us,”  he reported.  “I think ..”  he gave a sigh of exasperation.  “I can’t see!”  he concluded frustratedly.  “It’s too dark.”

“Let me look,”  Elladan suggested.  He joined Estel at the mouth of the tunnel and stared down into the cavern.   “Utumno take them!”  he swore.  “They have stopped shooting because they must have worked out where we are.  I think they are heading this way.”

He swung away from the edge and knelt by Elrohir.  “I can let you rest for only a moment,”  he said regretfully.  “We have to continue soon.  The orcs will be here before too long.”

Elrohir nodded.  “I know.  I heard,” he said simply.  He did not have the breath or strength to say more. 

“It is safe for you to wait here a moment,”  Elladan continued.  “Estel and I will go ahead and see if the path is clear – there is time.  Stay here.”

Estel looked over Elladan’s shoulder.  “Don’t go anywhere!”  he added, grinning.  Elrohir suppressed a groan.  His little brother’s irrepressible good humour could be wearing at times. 

As Elladan and Estel slid silently ahead and vanished into the shadows, Elrohir listened intently.  Cries and shouts drifted up from below, and a deep, ominous rumbling roar.  Curious, he pulled himself forward and peered down.  A wave of heat wafted up, and a foul stench of burning – and something else.   He was aware once more of the same sense of evil that had drawn them to this place in the first place, the evil that permeated the mines and weighed on him so heavily.  Flames leapt up from the cavern below, and it seemed that there was a figure caught within the fire – like an orc, yet appearing by some trick of the light far larger.  He shuddered.  Despite his hatred for all orc-kind, those he and Elladan killed died cleanly and swiftly.  This was a hideous death, even for an orc.  Even its sword burned like a tongue of fire.  But there was nothing he could do – and even as he came to that realisation, it was too late.  The creature raced across the cavern floor and vanished, passing far beneath him with a rush of flame and fire into the shadows below.

He drew back from the edge, his vision swimming again and his head throbbing in time with the drumbeats of the orcs.  He leaned against the cave wall again, cursing his befuddled state and wishing his mind was clearer.   Breathing slowly, he closed his eyes, resting for a few precious moments until Elladan and Estel returned, and they had to go on.

He was not aware of their approach, but suddenly Elladan was beside him again, touching his shoulder.  “Elrohir?  Wake up.  Elrohir.”   

Elrohir jerked back to awareness with a jolt, mortified that he had fallen asleep in such a short space of time.  Elladan continued as if he had not noticed.  “The way ahead is clear, and we should go while we still can.  I do not want us to be trapped again.  If we keep moving, we can stay ahead of the orcs.  Can you go on now?”

He nodded, and Elladan slipped an arm around his waist and helped him to stand.  “I wish I could carry you,”  he apologised. “You are not fit to walk any further.  But we cannot stay here.  Estel and I will help you.”  Through the contact with Elladan, he felt a renewal of his flagging energy as his twin subtly lent him more strength again.  He drew on their bond gratefully, knowing that if they were to escape this place, he could not be too proud to admit that he needed help.

Buoyed by the brief touch, he nodded again and straightened.  “Thank you, El,”  he murmured, sliding free of Elladan’s support and pushing him forward.  “Go on.  Keep watch ahead.  I will keep up – I promise.”

To Be Continued

Chapter Seven – Unexpected Company

Elladan led the way down the tunnel.  It was wide and level, and plunged straight ahead into the darkness.  It was clear that it had been a main thoroughfare when the dwarves had inhabited Moria, and equally clear that it must lead somewhere – perhaps even to the eastern gates.   Chambers and great halls led off to the left and right,  the walls carved with depictions of animals and birds.  These had been the habitable parts of Moria, the feast halls and storerooms; the networks of smaller caves where dwarven families had once lived; but now the caverns were silent and deserted.  Orcs had been here, though – their filth littered the floor, and crude lettering had been daubed in places on the pillars and walls. Shards of crystal lamps glinted on the ground, long since smashed and broken. 

“Why must they destroy everything?”  Estel asked softly behind him.

Elladan paused, glancing back.   Estel had appointed himself the rearguard, from where he could keep watch behind them, and keep an eye on Elrohir.  He shrugged, unable to answer.  “Because they hate the free peoples, and envy them,”  he suggested at last.  “Who knows?”  He ran one hand over his head and sighed, aware of the inadequacy of the answer.  He could feel both Elrohir’s weariness and his own, as the strain of supporting and reinforcing Elrohir’s strength began to make itself felt.   The brooding sense of evil had never left him since they had first encountered it in the Dimrill Dale; he had not slept since leaving Lórien; and he was tired, worried, and at his wit’s end.   Philosophical debate about why the orcs were as they were was beyond him.  They just were.  He shrugged again.  “They are orcs,” he explained lamely.

“They need no reason,”  Elrohir added in a sombre tone.

Elladan nodded in agreement.  They continued on their way as the tunnel widened again, and soon opened into a vast hall. Despite the urgency, they slowed as the passed into the chamber, awed at the soaring heights and magnificent carvings.   It must be night outside, but in the world above the moon shone weakly, for a faint, muted light filtered into the chamber from some distant window or light-shaft.   In the dim, pale light they could only guess at the height of the chamber, for the ceiling was lost in the gloom.  Immense pillars, exquisitely carved, supported the roof; soaring upwards into darkness.

They halted, staring into the gloom in wonder.  “Elladan?  Can you hear anything?  Are there any orcs nearby?”  Estel whispered. 

Elladan listened, then shook his head.  “No.  Nothing.  Not yet.  Why?”

“I want to light a torch.  I want to see!”  Estel explained. 

Elladan listened again, still cautious.  The silence was intense.  There was no hint of pursuit, and he knew that there was nothing else living as far as his senses could reach. Slowly, he nodded his agreement.   Estel lit a torch, but the light did little to penetrate the oppressive darkness.  The flame cast a fitful illumination around them, showing the ground stretching away into the distance and only emphasising the vast scale of the hall.  Here and there, jewels set into the pillars shimmered and shone in the reflected light; gleaming flashes of white, green, and red glowing in the darkness.

“I have never seen anything like this,”  Elrohir breathed in wonder.  “I knew the dwarves were stone masons and masters, but I never imagined that they could do this.  This cavern must be as high as a mallorn!”

Estel shivered.  “It seems – almost too much,”  he said unexpectedly.  “Too big.  It makes me feel  … insignificant.”

“I know what you mean,”  Elrohir admitted.  He was leaning against one of the pillars, carefully keeping the weight off his injured leg.  Elladan glanced at him anxiously but kept quiet.  There was no point in nagging.

They set off again across the great chamber, alone in the vast, echoing silence, feeling vulnerable and exposed in the immense cavern.  At last, on the far side, they found a series of smaller rooms cut into the wall – alcoves, perhaps once used for storage.   In the corner of one, larger than the rest, a fireplace remained; cold ashes still scattered on the hearth.

Crouched in the gritty remnants of the long-dead fire, Elladan peered upwards.   The chimney rose above him, climbing up towards the outer world.  Faintly, far overhead, he could see a single star.  For some reason, this glimpse of the outer world made him feel more isolated from it than ever.  

He sat back on his heels with a sigh.  “We will stay here for the rest of the night.  Tomorrow will bring us to the eastern edge of Moria, I hope.  From there we can make our way back to the Dimrill Gate, or find another way out.”  He gestured to the fireplace.  “It will be safe to light a fire here – the smoke will vent upwards.  El – sit down and rest.  Estel and I will see to everything.”

Elrohir merely nodded wearily, and sank to the floor.  Estel cast an anxious look at him, then turned to Elladan.  “Is he all right?”  he whispered.  Before Elladan could reply, Elrohir opened his eyes again.

“Do not worry, Estel – I will be well.  Trust me.”

Elladan nodded reluctantly.  “He will be.  I have seen this before.  When we get out of here, we can return to Lórien – El can rest there for as long as necessary.  Do you remember,”  he asked Elrohir, “how ill you made yourself at Barlynch?”

Elrohir’s face darkened.  “I remember.  But then, as now, I had no choice.  What else could I do?”  He was silent for a moment, then gave a tired grin.  “Estel, I will be fine.  I am weary, but nothing more.  Do not worry about me.”  He wrapped himself in a spare cloak and lay down in a corner near the hearth.

“Barlynch?”  Estel repeated softly.  “What happened there?”

Elladan sighed.  “I will tell you later.  Now, get the fire lit – I will make us some supper.”

While supper cooked – a stew of dried meat, dried vegetables and herbs, mixed with a little of their precious water – Estel questioned Elladan again.

“What happened at Barlynch?”

Elladan glanced down at Elrohir, dozing next to the fire.   “Many years ago, El went with another healer to a small town on the Mitheithel.  There was a sickness there, and the people had asked for our help.  But they never arrived.   When word came that they were missing,  I went with a friend to search for them.  We found that Bereth, the other healer, was dead – he had been attacked, and left to die by the side of the road.  There was no sign of Elrohir.”  He paused, remembering.  Those days had been some of the darkest of his life.   “I thought he was dead too,” he added expressionlessly.

“And?”

“When I eventually found him, he had collapsed after working alone for ten days without rest, without sleep; healing nearly all those who were sick.  But there were some he could do nothing for – and he blamed himself when they died.  Some of them … some were only children.”

Estel was silent for a long time.  “I see,” he said at last.  “I see why he said he had no choice.  What a terrible time for him to remember.  But Elladan …”

“What now?”  Elladan asked patiently.

“Well, why?  Why does Elrohir have this talent, but not you?  You are twins – there are so few things that you do not share.”

Elladan shrugged.  “In a way, we share that as well.  We work together.  El uses his skill to heal, and I use my own to lend him strength and support.  Because we are twins, it works well.  Between us, we can do far more than any individual healer.”  He smiled.  “I have some healing skills of my own, but Elrohir’s are stronger.”  With a short laugh he added, “and there is a story behind that, as well!”

o-o-o

After they had eaten, and Elrohir again lay down to rest, Elladan stretched and yawned.  “I need to sleep as well – Estel, will you take first watch?  Wake me when you need to.”

Estel smiled and nodded.  “Yes, of course.”   He stood in the doorway of the kitchen chamber, leaning against the stone pillars.  He was grateful for this chance to prove himself again – Elladan obviously trusted him now.   And one way he could repay that trust would be to take the whole watch himself, and leave Elladan to sleep.  He was weary, and worried, and worn out from caring for Elrohir.  A few hours’ uninterrupted rest would help the twins enormously, and the more quickly Elrohir recovered, the sooner they could all be out of this place.

As his brothers slept, the silence of Moria grew.  Restless, Estel peered into the darkness, then began to pace to and fro across the entrance.  Irritated by his nervousness, he forced himself to sit quietly for a while, listening and watching.  There was nothing – nothing to hear, and nothing to see.  The smothering darkness reached out to him again, and he found his eyes growing heavy before jerking awake with a start. 

Ashamed of his weakness, he paced again – he would not sleep while on duty!  But his weariness grew once more, and his head nodded as he leant against the doorway.  With a muttered oath, Estel forced himself upright.  “You are not going to sleep, curse you!” he scolded himself.  “El and El would never let you hear the end of it!”  He began to silently recite a foolish song his brothers had taught him about the Man in the Moon.  Images of a cat, a dog and a cow danced through his mind, the creatures pursued by a dish and a spoon, and he shook himself awake again.

At last, shame-faced, he knelt by Elladan, shaking him gently.  “Elladan – it’s your watch.  Wake up.” 

Elladan mumbled something as he stirred, then blinked sleepily.  “Estel?”

Estel sighed.  “I’m sorry.  I wanted to keep watch all night, and let you rest – but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.  I’m sorry.”

Elladan yawned as he sat up, and glanced across at Elrohir.  Then he smiled.  “Well done.  That was far more sensible than trying to keep awake, and falling asleep on duty.  You did the right thing.  Thank you, Estel.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not!  You showed sense and maturity.  You knew your limitations.”  Elladan shook his head ruefully.  “You showed more sense than I did.  On our first patrol, I was determined to keep watch on my own all night.  I was supposed to wake El for his turn, but decided to do it alone – just to prove I could.  I fell asleep, of course.  Glorfindel … Glorfindel was not pleased.”

Estel gaped at him.  “You fell asleep on duty?  You?  What did Glorfindel do?  What did he say?”

Elladan shook his head.  “I learned my lesson,” he said simply.  “It was something I never did again.  Well done, Estel.  Goodnight.”

Estel fell asleep, still smiling at Elladan’s praise – and his revelation – and praying to all the Valar that he never incurred Glorfindel’s wrath in such a way.

o-o-o

As Estel fell asleep, the silence grew again.  Elladan stood in the doorway to the storeroom, gazing out into the darkness.  Apart from the soft, scarcely heard breathing behind him, the silence was immense.  Nothing stirred, and he felt no sense of orcs nearby.  The ever-present taint of evil still pressed on him, but it seemed no greater than before.  All appeared quiet.

As he stared at the vast darkness, his eyes began to play tricks on him.  A faint flicker and sparkle seemed to dance in the distance, and then he began to hear things as well – a far off tread, and a low rumble of voices.  He froze, stared, and listened for an instant longer – then turned and dropped to Estel’s side.

“I can hear something ahead,” he told Estel quietly. “Something drawing near.”

Estel was on his feet immediately.  “Orcs?” he questioned.

Elladan shook his head.  “No.  I do not think so.  It does not sound like orcs, or feel like them.  At least, I sense no evil about it – but what is it?  Can you hear it?”

Estel listened for a long time, then slowly drew his sword.  “Yes,” he agreed.  “I can hear footsteps – voices.  They’re coming closer.”

Elladan nodded.  He edged forward cautiously, sword in hand, and peered around the corner, waiting.  He stared, blinked, then stared again, slowly lowering his sword.

“What is it?  What do you see?”  Estel whispered behind him.  Then, when he made no reply, Estel hissed more urgently.  “Tell me!”

Elladan glanced back.  “Look,”  he said blankly, gesturing at the hall.

Three dwarves approached, talking in low voices and quite unperturbed by the vast darkness.  They strolled across the chamber as if they were quite at home – and indeed, their ancestors may well have dwelt here.  They wore helmets of leather, strengthened with iron bands, and each carried an axe.  Their beards were long and well-groomed, reaching down to the jewelled belts they wore.

Estel joined him at the entrance to the chamber, watching the dwarves in amazement as they drew nearer.  “What are they doing here?” he asked.

“I have no idea,”  Elladan admitted, still watching.

“Are you going to stop them?  Talk to them?”  Estel persisted.  “Or just leave them alone?  Let them go on their way?”

“I think we will greet them.  They may have answers to some of our questions.  They may have news of the orcs.”

Estel snorted.  “They don’t even look as if they know the orcs are here!”  he protested.

“Then we warn them.  No one should wander through these halls unprepared.  Stay here.”  With that, Elladan stepped out from the shelter of the side chamber into full view of the dwarves.  He kept his sword low, but in clear sight.  “Greetings,”  he said softly.

The dwarves stiffened.  “It’s a bloody elf!”  one growled, drawing his axe.  The dwarf Elladan judged to be their leader – his beard was longer, and his belt more encrusted with gems – held up one hand in a signal to his companions to wait, then stepped forward.

“Greetings,”  he replied neutrally.  “What is an elf doing here in the realm of my fathers?”  He sounded more curious than suspicious.

Elladan hesitated, wondering how much to explain.  The clear threat posed by the orcs was one thing.   Dwarves were creatures bound to the substance of Arda, to the rock and soil.  They would understand the physical danger of the orcs.  Yet mention of the misgivings they all felt, the miasma of evil that permeated these halls, and the shadows that pressed so heavily – surely they would dismiss such warnings as mere elvish fancies.

“We were travelling from Lórien to Imladris – Rivendell,” he explained at last.  “We found signs that made us uneasy, and came into Moria to find an answer.  There are orcs here, very many of them, and also trolls.”

“Orcs and trolls as well?”  the dwarf growled.  “Here?  Curse their foul feet in these hallowed halls!  I had thought them long fled from these parts.”

Estel interrupted.  “What do you mean, orcs and trolls as well?  As well as what?”

The dwarf glanced at him.  “Who’s this?  How many of you are there?” he demanded.

“Three,”  Elladan explained.  “Myself and my two brothers.”

“Foster brother,”  Estel added quickly, as the dwarf turned an incredulous eye on him.

“Come, join us,”  Elladan continued.  “Tell us your tale.”  The dwarves posed no threat to them, and they could have information to share – not to mention useful knowledge of the mines.  He stepped aside and showed them the room where they had set camp, and where Elrohir still slept, wrapped in Elladan’s cloak.

One of the other dwarves glanced down at Elrohir.  “What of that one?  Is he dead?”

Elladan tensed at his dismissive tone.  “My brother was injured in a rock fall.  He rests, but will recover soon,” he explained curtly.

The dwarf, who still clutched his axe, grunted, and muttered under his breath in Khuzdul.  “A pity.”  Elladan’s fist clenched, but he held his tongue.  Then the dwarf turned to their leader, still grumbling.  “The only good elf’s a dead elf, if you ask me!”

The leader cuffed him.  “Enough!” he rumbled. 

Elladan’s thinly stretched patience snapped.   “I did not ask you, you stunted dirt-digger!”  he snarled in the same language, taking a step towards the dwarves.  “That is my brother you speak of!”

The dwarf glared back at him, and there was a strained silence.  Estel stared at them, not understanding what had been said, but recognising the tone and making a clear guess at the content.    Then the leader cleared his throat.  “Your pardon, master elf,” he said in Westron.  “I did not realise you understood our tongue.   My companion will apologise.”  He poked the other with his foot.  “Won’t you?”  He paused.  “Won’t you?”

The dwarf glowered at Elladan.  “You have my apologies.”

Elladan stared at him, then nodded stiffly.  “Mine also.”

The leader snorted, tugging at his beard.  Then he bowed.  “Farin, son of Dwalin, at your service.”

Elladan blinked in surprise.  “Elladan, son of Elrond, at yours and your family’s,” he responded smoothly, gathering his wits.

“Elrond?  Elrond of Rivendell?”  Farin repeated curiously.

“Yes.”

“My father passed through your house some years ago.  Although he has no great love for elves, he speaks highly of Elrond,”  Farin  told them.

Elladan nodded.  “I remember your father.  And the great Thorin Oakenshield, and all his companions.”  He bent, touching Elrohir’s shoulder lightly.  “El?  El!  Wake now – we have company.”  Ideally, he would have liked to leave Elrohir to sleep – but Elrohir would hate to miss this encounter, and in any case he valued his twin’s opinions too much.   “Elrohir – wake up.”

Despite his exhaustion, Elrohir woke instantly, his hand moving to his sword.  “Wait,”  Elladan cautioned.  “We have company.  This is Farin, son of Dwalin; and his companions.”

Elrohir pushed himself upright, and nodded at the dwarves as they settled themselves.  “I am Elrohir.”

“Farin, son of Dwalin.”  He nodded at the other two dwarves.  “My companions are Náin and Bilbur.”

o-o-o

“My father’s brother,”  Farin began, “is minded to re-establish a dwarven kingdom here.  We have come to look, to examine the rock for ores of mithril and iron, and to report back to my people.  We have seen no signs of orcs yet, but we have seen … something.”

“What sort of something?”  Elrohir prompted. 

Farin glanced at his companions.  “Fires.  A red glow at the end of passageways.  A blast of heat rising from the deep.  Smoke and flame on the lower levels.  A feeling of something … wicked here.”

Elladan nodded.  This agreed with what Orophin had told them.  “Yes.  We met with an elven patrol from Lothlórien a few days ago – they spoke of the same things.  And we have felt it ourselves.”

“Lothlórien?”  Farin repeated warily.  “Dwarves do no go there.  They say there is a White Lady there who can see into your heart and mind – a witch!  It is true I have heard of no great evil in the Golden Wood, but still we do not go there.”

Elladan hid a smile.  “There is nothing to be feared from the Lady,” he reassured Farin.

The dwarf snorted.  “Maybe not for elves, but I’d not trust her!”

Elrohir changed the subject.  “The smoke and fires you have seen – what of them?  What causes the heat – do you know?  Have you guesses?”

“Well …”  Farin hesitated, seeming reluctant to speak.   He fingered his beard, then nodded to himself.  “They said that he was the last.  That there were no more.  But I reckon there’s one left – and it’s here.  That’s what we’ve been seeing.  I’m sure of it!”

Elladan’s gaze slid to Elrohir, who raised one eyebrow, clearly just as puzzled.  “Your pardon, Farin – but I do not understand.  What have you seen?”

“A dragon, of course!  They said Smaug was the last – but who’s to say?  No-one knows for sure.”

“A dragon?”  Elladan was initially surprised, but then considered Farin’s startling conclusion more carefully.  A dragon.  It made sense – it made a great deal of sense, in fact.  It explained the rumbling and roaring they had heard; it explained the billowing smoke Orophin had reported; it explained the vague sense of wrongness they had all felt.

“There is mithril here, and gold, and the jewels that the dwarves have mined,”  Elrohir added, following his line of thought.  “Enough for a hoard large enough for any dragon!”

Elladan nodded.  “A dragon,”  he sighed.  “I fear you are right.  I must warn my grandmother.”

Farin looked surprised.  “Your grandmother?  Will your menfolk not take care of this matter?  My grandmother – may her beard be blessed – is a redoubtable lady, but not one I would trouble with tales of dragons.”  He shook his head.  “Why your grandmother?”

Elladan smiled icily, relishing the moment of revelation.  “Her realm borders Moria.  My grandmother is Galadriel, lady of the Golden Wood.”

To be continued

 .

Chapter Eight – In The Deep Places Of The World

Náin leapt to his feet at Elladan’s revelation.  “I knew it!”  he roared.  “Bloody elves!  They’re in league with the witch!”

Elrohir glanced at Elladan with resignation, then dropped his head to his knees.  “Did you have to tell them that?”  he asked mildly.  “It may have been better left quiet.”

“You would keep this news secret?  Are you her spies, then?”  Náin demanded.

“No!”  Elrohir protested.  He sighed.   What was the matter with him today?  With Elladan?  They were both normally far more diplomatic and eloquent.  They had acted as envoys for their father on many occasions, either alone or together; and had brought many awkward – even hostile – situations under control.   Why were these dwarves proving so difficult to handle?  He was bone-achingly weary, but that was no excuse.   No, it was the atmosphere in this place – it was still weighing on all of them.  And from the glares that Náin was directing at Elladan, he suspected that words had already been exchanged between them earlier.  

“My grandmother is not a witch,”  he explained carefully, trying to sooth the tension.  “It is true that she has the ability to see into one’s heart, to tell if you enter her realm with evil intentions – but she cannot read minds at a distance.  We have no such powers ourselves, nor are we her spies.  But we would warn her of this peril as soon as possible.” 

Farin stared at them, considering, then nodded slowly.  “Aye, I can see that,”  he conceded.  “As soon as possible?  Are you leaving, then?”

“We are,”  Elladan agreed.  “Since my brother is injured, we have decided to explore no further, but to return to Lórien and report what we have seen so far.  We were making our way back to the Dimrill Gate when we met you.”

“The Dimrill Gate?  You’re a little off course, then.  We are several levels above the Gate.”  Farin thought for a moment, his brow furrowed.  “We will show you the way,”  he announced.  “We can find the best ways, the secret ways that the orcs will not know.  We will leave when you are ready.”

“Thank you,”  Elladan replied.    Elrohir nodded in agreement, rather surprised at the offer of help from the still-suspicious dwarves.

Náin muttered under his breath.  “You would aid them?  Why?  They are elves!” he grumbled to Farin.

“That is still no reason to refuse help!”  Farin argued.  “The orcs are enemies of us all.  And their father is Elrond, who aided the great Thorin Oakenshield in his quest.  It was Elrond who discovered the moon-letters that led Thorin to the door into Smaug’s lair.  If we do this, I can repay my father’s debt to him.” 

Elladan nudged Elrohir.  “It was you who gave Father the idea to look for moon-letters on that map!”  he whispered with a grin. 

Elrohir nodded absently, listening to the dwarves’ discussion.  Farin had lowered his voice, but it was still clearly audible.  “And remember this, Náin.  The sooner we show them the way out, the sooner they will be gone from these halls.  Or would you rather they were still prowling around the realm of our fathers?”

Náin glowered, but nodded a curt agreement.  “Very well!”  he snapped.  He turned a still-unfriendly eye on them.  “Are you ready?”

“I think we had better be ready, my brother,”  Elladan murmured very quietly.  “Can you manage?”

Elrohir nodded, but accepted Elladan’s hand as he pulled himself to his feet.  He knew just how far he could push himself, and he was not at the limits of his endurance yet.  Not quite.   The brief rest – short though it was – had given him the strength to continue. “We are ready,”  he agreed.  “Estel?”

Estel nodded from his position by the door, where he had been keeping watch.  “I’m ready.” 

As they set off skirting the edge of the great hall,  Farin pointed ahead to a pillar at the side of the hall where a wedge of shadow loomed black against the darkness.  “We go this way.” 

Elrohir moved stiffly towards the dark corner Farin had indicated, still limping slightly.  He became aware of Náin watching him closely, and instinctively tried to hide his pain and weariness with all the pride and stubbornness he could muster – the pride and stubbornness which Elladan frequently declared were his worst failings.  Privately he acknowledged the faults, but he was still reluctant to reveal any weakness to the dwarves.

“Your brother said you were injured in a rock fall,”  Náin said at last.

Elrohir glanced at him in surprise.  “Yes,”  he agreed.

“Hmm.  I’m sorry to hear that,”  Náin admitted.  Before Elrohir could reveal his shock at this unexpected expression of concern from the hostile dwarf, Náin added regretfully, “Rock shouldn’t fall like that.  It shows bad workmanship in digging the tunnels, or faults in the strata.  It could prove a problem for Balin.  We’ll have to survey the mines carefully if he’s going to bring our people here.  Hmm.”  He fell silent again, deep in thought.   “What caused the rock fall?  Do you know?”

His memories of the incident were a little hazy, but Elrohir related what he could recall.  “… and when the orc fell, it knocked the roof support struts out of place.  The roof collapsed soon after that.”

“Hmm.  Roof supports.  So they knew there was a problem.  Hmm.”  Náin drifted into silence, and did not speak again.

Elrohir dropped back to Estel’s side. “Estel?  What happened when you met the dwarves?  How did you meet them?  I have the impression there is something I missed.  Why is Náin so hostile to us?”

Estel grinned as he related the incident with relish.  “Elladan called him a stunted dirt-digger!”  he ended.

Elrohir winced.  “El said that?”  His twin was usually far more polite and even-tempered.  “He must have been upset!  He does not normally lose his temper like that.”

“Náin seems very … suspicious.  He doesn’t trust elves – not at all.  Farin is a little wary, but seems friendly enough.  He’s prepared to accept us because of father.”

Elrohir nodded.  He had come to the same conclusions, but it was interesting to hear Estel’s observations of the situation.  “And Bilbur?”

“Hasn’t said anything yet.  He just watches, and listens.   I think it’s the first time he’s ever seen elves.  He’s not quite sure what to make of you – or me!”

Elrohir laughed. “Few people are!  We call you brother, but it is clear to anyone with half an eye that you are not.”

The pillar Farin lead them to concealed a dark opening in the corner of the hall, so well hidden it was unlikely to be discovered accidentally.  “We go this way,”  Farin said again.  He looked consideringly at Elladan, Elrohir and Estel.  “It’s a bit low for you.  Mind your heads.”

‘A bit low’ was something of an understatement, Elrohir realised.  The roof of the tunnel was barely high enough for Farin, the tallest of the three dwarves, to walk upright.  He stared at the tunnel with distaste, but knew there was little alternative.  With a glance over his shoulder at Elladan, he plunged into the tunnel after Farin.

Stairs led steeply down.  Elrohir followed Farin with difficulty.  The steps were designed for the shorter legs of dwarves; the treads narrow and the drop between them a little too small, and Elrohir soon found that his legs, back and neck ached from the unaccustomed strain.  

At length the stairs ended, and the path levelled out.  The passage stretched ahead of them, narrow, low-roofed; the walls glistening with wetness and patches of some slimy green growth.  It was dark, and rough underfoot, and the torch Farin carried streamed an acrid smoke that stung his eyes.

After a mile or so the tunnel began to slope downwards again, and the ceiling above their heads dropped even more steeply so that soon Elrohir was bent double.  His back –  still sore and bruised from the rock fall – ached fiercely, and he kept striking his head against the rough stone of the roof.  This route was quite unlike the wide, spacious tunnels they had travelled in the other parts.

At last Farin halted.  Elrohir raised his head cautiously to peer past him and sighed.  The passage ahead was blocked.  The roof sloped down to the ground here, forming a wall at the end of the tunnel.  A pool of dark water lay before them, lapping at the wall.  Elrohir stared at it in dismay.  To have come so far, and under such difficult conditions – and now they would have to retrace their steps back to the upper levels.  He sighed – why had Farin bought them this way? – and turned his head reluctantly.  “El.  Estel.  We have to go back.”

Farin left his study of the pool and turned.  “Go back?  What for?  This is where we swim.”  He began to gesture with his hands, drawing the shape of the tunnel – a wide, shallow ‘U’ –  in the air before him.  “It’s a water trap.  The passage dips down here, then rises again a few yards further on.  Water collects at the bottom – sometimes you can wade through, but sometimes – like now – it’s deeper.”

“How deep?”  Elrohir asked him.

Farin shrugged.   “Difficult to say.  Deep enough to reach the roof, certainly.  How far this goes – I can’t tell.  We’ll have to swim to the other side, down through the dip in the tunnel and up again on the other side.  I’m not sure how far it will be – several yards, at a guess.”  He stared at the flooded passage, muttering into his beard.  “It’s too wet.  It shouldn’t be like this.  Not now.  Not yet.”  He glanced at Elrohir, then at Elladan and Estel.  “I hope you can hold your breath!”

Náin snorted behind them.  “I hope they can swim!  If not, we’ll just leave them here.”

“We can swim.”

“I’ll go first,” Farin decided.   “Give me a few minutes, then you follow.”

“How will we know if you’ve made if through?”  Estel asked.

“You won’t,”  Farin replied shortly.  “Just wait a while, then come through.”  He began to lace his jerkin closed and tightened the straps on his pack.

Estel watched him.  “Wait!”  he protested.  “Look – take a rope.  That way, we can pull you back if we have to, and you can pull on it to say you’re on the other side.”

Farin gazed at him, considering, then nodded.  “A good idea,”  he agreed.  “Have you got a rope?”

“Yes – here.”  Estel handed him a coil of fine rope. 

Farin took the rope, running it through his fingers and feeling it carefully.  “It’s a bit thin,”  he said dismissively.  “Light, too.  It won’t be very strong.  Have we got anything better?”

“It will be more than strong enough,”  Elladan assured him. 

Farin merely grunted in response, and tied the rope to his belt, tugging on it to test the knot, then waded into the water.  It rose swiftly to reach his knees, his waist, then he turned and dived out of sight into the black murk.

o-o-o

Estel watched with a shiver as Farin disappeared.  There was something about the thought of the black unknown and swimming into the darkness that chilled him and filled him with fear.  Half-forgotten stories drifted back to him, legends of the creative malice of Melkor, of the hideous creatures he had bred.  Some had roamed the land, some the waters.  Who knew what horrors could still lurk here in the deep places of the world?

He touched Elrohir’s arm.  “Do we have to go that way?”  he whispered, staring at the dark pool apprehensively. 

Elrohir shrugged.  “I see no other way – do you?  Farin said it was either this, or go back.”

“I would rather go back,”  he muttered.  “The though of swimming through that – I dread it.  It is dark.  It is narrow.  How do we even know what lies on the other side?”

“If Farin can get through, then so can we.  Do not worry, Estel.”  Elrohir squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.  “There is nothing to fear.”

Estel sighed.  “That’s easy for you to say.  You and Elladan aren’t afraid of anything!”

Elrohir gave a short laugh.  “Then we hide it well.  Of course there are things we fear, both of us.  I …”  he broke off as Farin reappeared with a splash and a gasp, and a string of curses.

Náin knelt by the water.  “Farin?  What’s the matter?  What have you found?”

Farin took a deep breath.  “The passage is partly blocked – boulders and rubble have fallen, and rest at the bottom of the dip.  We can still get past, but it will be a tight squeeze.”  As he spoke he unfastened his pack.  “I’ll have to push this through first.  Náin, you come next.  Bilbur, you go last.  Make sure nothing is left.”  With another deep breath, he plunged out of sight again.

Estel took the coil of rope and began to pay it out, counting under his breath as he measured the distance, trying not to think about what lay ahead.  Farin’s words had made his vague fears far worse.  He tried not to picture the pitch black tunnel, filled with icy water.  He tried not to think about creatures of darkness with long snake-like tentacles that ensnared the unwary.  He tried not to think about wriggling and twisting through the narrow gap left by the fallen debris.  He tried not to think about what would happen if he became trapped, wedged below water in the dark and cold, desperately struggling to free himself while he became light-headed from lack of air and slowly drowned …

“Estel, do not worry,”  Elrohir said softly and reassuringly.  “I will go after Náin, then you, then Elladan.  You will not be alone – not even there.”

Estel gave Elrohir a grateful look, then returned his attention to the rope in his hands.  The slow and steady pull on it as Farin inched his way through the water-filled tunnel had stopped.  He nearly dropped the rope as he felt  two long, deliberate tugs on it – the signal that Farin had reached the far side.   “Náin.  It’s your turn,”  he said, his voice steady.  “It’s about twenty yards – further than we thought.  Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,”  Náin rumbled.  “And you’d better hurry – we’ll not come to look for you if you get stuck or become lost!  We won’t wait for you.”  With that he plunged into the water in his turn and disappeared from view.

“He’ll wait,”  Elladan muttered to Estel.  “He’ll wait for Bilbur, if not for us!”  He glanced at Bilbur who sat, still unspeaking, at the water’s edge.

At length another tug came on the rope, and Elrohir slid into the water.  “Valar, it is cold!”  he gasped.  “Estel, come through straight after me – not too close though; I do not want to kick you.  El, look after him.”

Estel stared at the black water, his heart beating fiercely.  He had to do this, he knew.  They could not go back.  And if the dwarves could do it, so could he.  He would not humiliate himself in front of them.  He took a deep breath.

“I will be right behind you, littlest brother,”  Elladan murmured.  “Are you ready?”

Estel nodded.  He took another deep breath, then stepped into the water, diving downwards immediately so he did not have time to think about what he was doing.   The cold was agonising.  He had been numb with cold in the past, but this was far worse – it burned like fire.   He opened his eyes but could see nothing in the pitch darkness, and the cold bit at his eyes painfully.  He closed them again, and groped his way downwards, thrusting his pack before him with one hand, clinging to the lifeline of the rope with the other.

All was dark, and cold, and silent.  He kicked his way deeper – far deeper than he had expected – groping ahead with one hand, feeling the tunnel walls closing in on him all around, and nothing but water in front.    Then his outstretched hand touched rock ahead as well.  He tried to feel along the rope and trace the path it followed – but realised that his hands were so numb with cold that he had lost his grip on the rope.  He felt all around for it, finding no trace, and no way out, and began to panic – this was a dead end, and Farin had lead them all to a watery grave.  Then, above his head, he felt a small gap – far too small, surely, to swim through?  But Farin must have made it, and Náin, and Elrohir – so he could as well.  

He pushed his pack through the narrow gap, and forced himself after it.  It was tight, even tighter than he had feared, and he could feel the rough stone scraping at his hands and head, catching at his clothes.  The tunnel seemed to turn to the right, and he twisted his body, feeling the tunnel roof closing in on him.  He twisted again but found to his horror that he could not move.  His shoulders, the widest part of his body, were wedged  in the narrow space, and he was trapped.

Panic flared.  He twisted again, kicking his feet and groping with his hands ahead for some purchase on the rock so he could pull himself through.  He had dropped his pack, but did not care – his only thought now was to free himself.  All his fears and horrors had come terrifyingly true, and he would die here, alone in the cold and dark.  Already his lungs were burning from lack of air, and he wondered how long it would be before he succumbed to the darkness.

A touch on his foot, a hand clasping his ankle, gave him renewed hope.  Elladan.  He was not alone, and he began to twist again, wriggling and turning his body, and kicking out.  He inched forward a little, and then a little more – and then he was through, swimming upward to the air, to the other side of the tunnel, where Elrohir waited.

Red speckles danced in his vision and he began to fear he was on the edge of passing out.  He swam more desperately, and at last his head broke the surface.  Elrohir knelt anxiously above him, his hand outstretched to pull him from the water.  He could see his brother, he realised – Farin had, somehow, lit a torch which spluttered red sparks over them.

Estel took a deep, gasping breath and allowed Elrohir to seize his hand and haul him up and out of the bitter water.  He knelt, resting on hands and knees, drawing in shuddering breaths of the dank air; and slowly the ache in his chest and the pounding of his heart subsided.

There was a slight splash behind him, and Elladan joined them.  “Estel?  What happened?”  he demanded.  “Are you all right?”

Estel nodded wearily.  “I got stuck,”  he gasped.  “It was a little too narrow.  I nearly didn’t make it through.”  He paused, just breathing again, then added, “Thank you, Elladan.  I knew you were there.  It gave me the strength to go on.”

“Well done, little brother.  Well done,”  Elrohir murmured. “Now, Farin has lit a torch, as you can see – apparently they keep kindling and tinder by all these water traps.  There is a cave a little further on where we can dry out before continuing.  As soon as Bilbur arrives …”  he stopped, and they all stared at the dark pool.

“Where is Bilbur?”  Farin snapped.

“He was behind me,”  Elladan said.  “Right behind me.  He was already in the water as I dived.”

They waited, but the black surface of the water was still and unruffled.  No ripple marred its inky surface, and  Bilbur still did not appear.

To be continued

Chapter Nine – Search And Rescue

Elladan waited a moment longer, staring at the dark water – hoping desperately that Bilbur would eventually surface.   Then, with a shudder, he slid into the icy depths again.  “I will find him,”  he promised as he dived into the murk. 

The chilling bite of the water was even more agonising the second time, and he stifled a gasp, wondering fleetingly why in all of Arda he was doing this.  But there was no real doubt in his mind – every second was vital, and there had been no time for debate.   If he had not acted, then his brothers would have taken his place – and Elrohir was certainly far from his best, while Estel was still shaken from his own experience.   The dwarves’ dismay at the loss of their companion had made them hesitate – perhaps fatally.

He swam downwards, sweeping his arms before him in wide arcs as he felt all around for some sign of Bilbur.   He could not even rely on the security of the rope to guide him, for he had no idea where Bilbur might be.  He could have sunk down among the boulders that so nearly blocked the tunnel, or he could have become trapped in the narrow space remaining like Estel had been.  He may not ever have made it through the tunnel at all, and could still be on the far side; caught by orcs, dragged down by the weight of his jewelled belt and heavy boots, or simply too terrified to take the plunge in the first place.

He stretched downwards, and his fingertips brushed against slick, wet leather.  He grabbed at it desperately, his heart leaping in elation – but then realised it was too small, too light.  It was only Estel’s pack. 

Disappointment dragged at him as he abandoned the pack again, and he had to force himself to continue the desperate search.  He could feel the floor of the tunnel, the jumbled boulders and rubble, but nothing more.   He groped upwards again, feeling for the gap by the roof of the tunnel.  The tunnel was clear, and with growing unease Elladan pulled himself through the narrow passageway, hating the tight, confined space even more.

Wary of what may be laying in wait for him, he surfaced soundlessly on the far side of the water trap, but only utter darkness and silence greeted him.  He knew instinctively that Bilbur was not there, but still called softly into the blackness.  “Bilbur?”

No response came.  He knew that orcs could not have taken Bilbur – he would have been able to hear and sense the echo of their evil presence – but he began to wonder what other evils may lurk here.  Tales of noisome creatures of the dark deeps stirred on the edges of his mind, and he shook his head angrily to clear it of such thoughts.  He was no frightened elfling listening to Glorfindel’s spine-chilling stories now.  There had to be an explanation – a logical explanation.

He called again one last time, but waited only a few heartbeats before he dived again.  This time he dived deep, down into the well of the water trap, trying to feel if Bilbur had sunk down before ever making it through to the other side.  There was nothing.  With growing despair and bewilderment he groped for the rope and clung to it as he forced himself to squeeze through the water filled tunnel for the third and last time.  Finally – weary and disheartened – he turned away from the surface where Elrohir, Estel and the dwarves waited, putting off the moment when he would have to admit defeat, and dived down to retrieve Estel’s pack.  He grabbed at the strap hurriedly, but it slipped from his grasp and sank lower, settling among the boulders at the bottom of the water trap.   Swearing at himself for his clumsiness,  he snatched at it again one final, hopeless time as his lungs began to burn from lack of air.

He drew his hand back in shock as he felt a cold, clammy hand floating limply in the water, still and lifeless.  Swearing again, he felt around until he found Bilbur’s hand again, then traced along the dwarf’s arm to the rest of his body, wedged between a stone and the side of the tunnel.  He hauled at Bilbur’s arm, and with his other hand  tugged at the dwarf’s collar in a frantic attempt to free him. 

The water surged around him as someone joined him in the darkness, and he felt Estel’s calloused hand touch his briefly.  Together they pulled at Bilbur again, finally freeing him, then  swam upwards, dragging the dead weight of the dwarf with them. 

They surfaced to a burst of light and exclamations.   Eager hands were extended to haul all three of them from the pool and onto the hard floor, surprisingly warm after the frigid water.

Elrohir’s face was white.  “Balrog’s balls, El, do not scare me like that!  You were gone for far too long.  I thought …”  his voice trailed away, and he turned to look at Bilbur. 

Farin  and Nain had pulled their companion from the water, and Náin placed a gnarled hand against his throat, frowning. 

“Is he breathing?”  Elladan gasped, fighting to draw breath himself.

Náin shook his head curtly.  “No.  It’s too late.”  He looked up at Elladan with a grudging respect.  “You did what you could, but it’s too late.”  Farin let out a wail of despair and pulled at Bilbur’s arm.

Elrohir pushed Farin and Náin away, and knelt over Bilbur.  “Not necessarily!”  he snapped.   He placed one hand on Bilbur’s chest, and the other on the pulse spot in his neck.   “No heartbeat,” he muttered.  “El, help me!”

Elladan dragged himself over to Bilbur’s other side as Elrohir began to press rapidly on the dwarf’s chest above his heart.  When his brother paused, Elladan began to breathe for Bilbur, exhaling carefully and tilting his head to watch the slow rise of the dwarf’s chest.   He and Elrohir had rehearsed this many times, but he had only once before actually put theory into practice, on another elf.    Incongruously, the main thought on his mind was distaste at the hairiness of Bilbur’s mouth.  He gave the dwarf two breaths, then watched again as Elrohir resumed his own task.   Behind him, he was vaguely aware of Estel holding Farin and Náin back, explaining rapidly what they were trying to do.

He breathed again, then sat back abruptly as Bilbur gave a choking gasp and began to cough up water,  wheezing harshly.  Elrohir sat back as well, his head drooping with exhaustion, but then he leaned forward again, resting his hands on Bilbur.  His eyes fluttered closed, and Elladan suddenly realised what he was doing.   He knocked his twin’s hands away swiftly.  “Stop it, El!”  he said furiously.  “You have nothing more to give.  He is breathing again, and that is enough.  It will have to be enough.  There is nothing more we can do now.”

Elrohir nodded wearily.  “I know,” he murmured.  He touched the dwarf’s face lightly.  “Bilbur?  Can you hear me?”

Bilbur gave another harsh cough, then his eyes flickered open.  “By Mahal,”  he gasped.  “What happened?  Am I dead?”

“No,”  Farin replied thoughtfully. “The elves saved you.”   He gazed at Elladan, Elrohir and Estel with clear admiration.  “You have my thanks,”  he said very simply.  “More than you can ever know.”

“And mine!”  Bilbur wheezed, coughing again.

Náin gave a curt nod.  “Mine also.  Thank you.”

Slowly, Bilbur’s harsh, laboured breathing eased a little, and at last he sat up.  Leaning forward, he unlaced his boots and slowly poured water out of them.  As Estel picked one up to pass it back, his eyes widened.   “Balrog’s balls!”  he exclaimed, using the unfortunate expression he had adopted from Elrohir.  “These weigh a ton – what are they made of?”

“Iron nails in the soles,”  Bilbur explained defensively.  “Very hard-wearing.”

Farin gave a snort of exasperation.  “Then it serves you right!  No wonder you sank.”

Elladan shook his head in bewilderment.  He would never understand dwarves.   He glanced at Elrohir with a grin to share the moment – and saw to his dismay that Elrohir was still kneeling slumped on the floor where they had been tending to Bilbur.  “El?”

Elrohir glanced up, and rose to his feet in a swift, fluid movement that did not fool Elladan for one moment.  He said nothing though, understanding his brother’s wish to hide his weariness.

Estel stared at them both uncertainly.  “Farin?”  he asked.  “Should we go on?”

Farin nodded as he got to his feet and gestured along the tunnel.  “There should be a guard chamber a little further on, with kindling and firewood.   I think we should rest there for a while before we move on.”   He and Náin heaved Bilbur to his feet, his arms draped across their shoulders, and Farin continued, “I know you wish to return as soon as may be to give warning, but it will not take long.”  He glanced at Bilbur as he spoke.   “I think Bilbur should rest.”

Elladan shrugged.  He did not really want to delay their journey any longer – the sooner they left this evil place the better, and the sooner they could deliver their warning to Galadriel.  But Bilbur was exhausted after his narrow escape; Elrohir looked little better; and Estel was beginning to shiver.  And he had to admit that the warmth of a fire, and dry clothes, would be very welcome.  He nodded at Farin.  “Then lead the way.”

They set off along the tunnel, and Elladan fell into step beside Estel.   “You came in after me?”  he asked in amazement.   “I thought you dreaded the thought of the water trap?”

Estel gave an uneasy shrug.  “I do.  But it was either me or Elrohir – and I managed to distract him when he was trying to prevent Farin and Náin from leaping into the water.  Farin seemed upset,”  he added.

Elladan smiled.  “Thank you.  Well done, littlest brother!”  He was not sure which feat impressed him most – that Estel had defied his own obvious fears to come to his rescue, or that he had successfully prevented Elrohir from doing so.  “Well done,”  he said again.

When they reached the guard room there proved to be a good cache of firewood, and soon a warm blaze was flickering in the centre of the chamber.  By unspoken agreement they pooled what dry clothes they had.  Tightly wrapped in oiled skins, there were enough cloaks and blankets for all six of them, and dry foodstuffs as well.  Farin thrust a cloak and a blanket at Bilbur.  “Dry yourself off,”  he said gruffly.  “And take those wretched boots off as well!”

There was something in his manner – protective and annoyed –  that seemed very familiar.  Elladan grinned.  “I think,”  he whispered to Estel and Elrohir, “that Bilbur may well be his brother!”

Farin overheard, and shook his head curtly.  “No.”  Then he sighed, and added almost reluctantly,  “She is my sister.”

To be continued

Author Notes:  I’m not happy with this chapter.  It’s far too short, and ends too abruptly – but as I’ve been stuck on it for weeks now,  I’ve decided to post what there is while I work on the next part.  I apologise for the delay, and the unfinished feel.  There’s not far to go before the end now – I just need to get there!

I'm away on holiday for a few days from tomorrow, so may be a little slow in responding.

Author Notes:  Many, many thanks to Fimbrethiel for betaing this for me!!

Chapter Ten – Water, Water, Everywhere

“She is my sister.”

“Your sister?”  Elladan echoed in amazement.  He knew how rare it was for dwarf women to travel far from their homes – and even rarer for them to be identified as such.   He swallowed his surprise and turned to Bilbur.   “I am honoured to meet you, madam.”

She nodded.  “Likewise,”  she answered gruffly.  “And thank you, master elf.  I owe you the debt of my life.”

Estel was staring at her in wide-eyed awe.  Elladan elbowed him, hard.  “Shut your mouth, littlest brother – you look like a fish!”  Lowering his voice, he added in a whisper, “You never did believe us about dwarf women, did you?  Now will you listen to us?”

Estel flushed a little, the colour vivid on his pale face.  “It would not have been the first tall story you told me, though!”  he retorted under his breath.  Turning his back on Elladan, he nodded at Bilbur.  “Estel, son of Elrond, at your service.”

“Bilbur!”  Farin called.  “Come and sit by the fire and get yourself dry!”

Náin had heated a pan of water on the fire, brewing a dark, foul-smelling tea.  He carried some across to Elladan and Estel and thrust two mugs at them.  “Here,”  he muttered.  “Drink this – it’ll warm you up.”

Astounded by the kindly gesture, Elladan nearly dropped the cup.  “Thank you,”  he managed.

Náin hesitated, his hands clenched together.  “Thank you,”  he said again.  “For saving Bilbur, I mean.  You didn’t have to do that – why did you?”

Elladan shrugged, not really understanding the question.  “She would have died,”  he explained helplessly.  “My brothers and I are healers.  If we can save a life, we will.”

“You would do that for a dwarf?”

“Well, yes.  We would do it for anyone.”

Náin shook his head.  “I don’t understand why an elf would risk his life for a dwarf – but you have my thanks.  Perhaps I was wrong about you.”  Suddenly he thrust his hand out and seized Elladan’s in a tight grip, as he shook it, then bowed.  “Náin, son of Bain at your service.”

“Elladan son of Elrond at yours.”

With another shake of his head Náin turned away again and returned to the fire. 

“He doesn’t like having his prejudices challenged,”  Estel whispered very quietly.

“Of course not,”  Elladan agreed, watching as Náin poured another cup of the tea and took it to Elrohir.  “Who does?  But at least he has the courage to admit he could be wrong.  I can think of several elves who could not do that.”  He joined Elrohir where he was sorting through the supplies stored in the cave. 

Elrohir looked up with a grin as Elladan joined him.  “Estel looks like he cannot believe his eyes!”

“There was always a slight doubt in his mind about dwarf women – and even we have never knowingly seen one!”

“No.”

Elladan frowned at the poor response and picked up the mug of Náin’s tea.  “Drink this, little brother – you should not still be shivering!”

Elrohir cupped both hands around the cup and took a sip of the nearly black tea.  “Well, at least it is warm.  But Valar, it is foul!  It tastes more like tar than tea.  How can they drink it this strong?”

“Do not change the subject, El!  How do you feel?  I mean it – you should not be shivering like this!”  He clasped his own hands around Elrohir’s.  “You are too cold.”

Elrohir shrugged.  “But it is just cold – nothing more.  I will feel a great deal better when we leave this place!  I mean it, El – we should leave as soon as possible.  We need to pass on what we have learned.”  He glanced across to where the three dwarves were whispering together.  “Farin!  When we reach the outer world, will you leave here?  Are your explorations finished?”

“Aye, nearly.  There are still a few questions I have – I’d like to know how unstable some of the tunnels are – but I already have most of the information I was sent to gather.  I know Balin will be able to found a colony here, orcs or no orcs!”   

Elladan shook his head.  “Rather them than me,”  he murmured, and took a sip of his tea.  He shuddered.  “This is terrible,”  he whispered as he poured it away into a dark corner of the cave.

o-o-o

After a few hours’ rest – not long enough for any of them, but better than nothing – they continued in single file along the narrow tunnels.  The only illumination came from the torch Farin carried, and smoke from it drifted back into their faces.  Estel, immediately behind the dwarf, coughed, and Elrohir felt his eyes stinging.  He blinked, his eyes watering, and dropped back a little further.  The path was so narrow he could easily touch both walls with his arms by his sides.  The rock was damp and roughly hewn, with none of the skilled stonework he had seen in the upper tunnels.  There was none of the pale algae either, and without Farin’s torch the darkness would have been absolute.  While he usually had no fear of such dark, confined places, there was something about the oppressive blackness and emptiness behind him that filled him with dread.  He shuddered at the thought of anyone being lost in the maze of cold, dank tunnels, wandering in the eternal darkness, and closed the gap between him and Bilbur again.  Smoke in the eyes was a small price to pay.

They had gone a mile or two, or perhaps more – it was difficult to judge distances down here – through a long, low tunnel with several blank, black side passages opening off it.  The strain of walking with his head permanently bowed to avoid striking it on the uneven roof was taking its toll, and sweat trickled down his back.  These low, narrow tunnels were very different to the wide, lofty halls and passageways above, and felt much older.   When Farin paused ahead to consult with Náin about their route, Elrohir dropped to a crouch, straightening his back and stretching as best he could, rubbing his stiff neck.  He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes wearily.  His strength was returning slowly, but he was still stiff and aching, and the damp chill did little to help.

He wished Farin would hurry and move on.  Although he welcomed the respite, he felt tense and uneasy.   His head throbbed, but at least the rock he leaned against was pleasantly warm.

Startled, his eyes snapped open.  The rock he leaned against was pleasantly warm.   He placed his hand flat against the wall, feeling the slight warmth radiating from it.  “Elladan!”  he called softly.  “Estel!  Farin!”   

They turned, and Elladan knelt by his side.  “El?  What is it?   Are you well?”

“Yes!  But feel this – put your hand on the wall.”  He stood and moved out of the way, then stopped again, peering down the tunnel that branched off beside him, plunging downwards.  It was not wholly dark down there – somewhere far ahead there was a very faint glow of red, flickering dimly.  “Look!”

A sense of evil flowed from the passage, and a wave of hot, foul air drifted up from the depths like the breath of some hideous beast.  A low noise throbbed around them, a noise so low it was felt more than heard.  “I think maybe we’ve found our dragon,” Farin murmured as he stepped back from the tunnel.

Estel stared down the passageway wide-eyed, then turned to look at Elladan and Elrohir.  “Can’t we go after it?”  he pleaded.

“And do what?”  Elladan enquired.  “A dragon is not the easiest thing to kill – and do you really want to alert the orcs to our presence?  Remember, Estel – the important thing now is to find out all we can about the threat here, and report back.”

“Believe me, lad – you don’t want to rouse a dragon!”  Farin said firmly.  “I never saw Smaug myself, but I was in Dain’s army and saw the destruction he wrought.  Dragons are terrible creatures!”

Elrohir smiled, remembering how he and Elladan had longed to see a real dragon when they were younger.  “Never mind, Estel,”  he consoled.  “Perhaps another time?”

They set off again, with Estel casting a last longing look down the tunnel before finally rejoining them.  “I know you are right,”  he mourned, “But I just wish I could see it …”

“I always wanted to see a dragon too,”  Elladan whispered.  “But now is not the time!”

The path began to climb steeply again, and a growing noise like thunder throbbed through the air all around them.  “What is that?”  Estel whispered.

“I have no idea,”  Elrohir whispered back.  Ahead of them, the dwarves were also muttering together.  Farin thrust the torch into Náin’s hand and rummaged in his pack, pulling out a much crumpled sheet of parchment – a map, Elrohir realised.  He edged forward.  Farin and Bilbur consulted the map, tracing their route until Bilbur jabbed her finger down. 

“We’re here,”  she decided.  Farin nodded in agreement. 

Unable to resist, Elrohir moved closer and crouched beside them.  “What is it?  What is that noise?”

“It’s the river,”  Farin explained.  “There’s a river than runs underground, fed by the waterfalls that flow down the Dimrill stair above Mirrormere.  Here, you see?”  He pointed at the map.  “We’re nearer the gate than I realised!  It’s not far now.”  He placed his hand against the wall and paced along it, stroking it gently as if it was a horse or a dog.  “Yes – just behind here – I can feel it …”  he murmured to himself.

Elrohir studied the map, seeing a maze of tunnels, hallways and immense caverns drawn below a sketch of the mountain.  The map had been made with great skill, for he could see the different levels within the mine, and the branching, twisting passages.  He could see the underground river, the great cave that could be the dragon’s lair and  the tunnel they were in.  He half expected to see six tiny dots clustered there.  “Remarkable,”  he said.  “Even without moon letters or fire runes, every detail is clear.”

Bilbur sat back on her heels and regarded him with astonishment.  “What do you know of map runes?”  she asked.

Elrohir grinned.  “I helped my father to decipher Thrain’s map,”  he explained.  “But what is this?” Their route appeared to curve round and cross a great cave – a side chamber of the very cavern where the dragon could lurk. 

Bilbur leaned forward and squinted at the map in the dim light – Náin had taken the torch to examine the wall with Farin.  She swore.  “Farin!”  she barked.  “El …”

“Elrohir.”

“Elrohir is right.  Look!  I want to go ahead and see where we’re going.”

Farin cast a cursory glance at the map and nodded, distracted.  “Very well.  You go ahead.  I want to look at this.”  He turned back to the wall of rock that contained the underground stream.

“I’ll go with you,”  Estel stepped forward and nodded at Bilbur, casting a swift glance at Elladan.

Elladan hesitated for a moment.  “Yes,” he agreed.  “You go, Estel.  Come back and tell us what you find.”

Elrohir stared at him in surprise.

“What?”  Elladan added irritably.

“You are sending him ahead to scout out our path?”

Elladan sighed.  “Why not?  You were right – he is no longer a child.  He has done well on this journey, El – very well.”

Despite himself, Elrohir could not help worrying as Estel and Bilbur vanished around a turn in the passageway.  But he had to trust Estel – so far on this dark journey he had proved himself brave and quick thinking, and was more than capable.  He sighed, laughing at himself.  He had chided Elladan for not allowing Estel enough responsibility; yet when he did, he fussed like an old mother hen.  Determined not to fret, he turned to watch Farin and Náin, deep in a muttered conversation together.  “Is something wrong?”

“Hmm.  Maybe.  The stream is dammed behind this wall, but it is wet – do you see?  The rock is porous, and the water seeping through in places.  I think that in a year or two – maybe more, maybe less – the dam will break and these tunnels will be flooded.”

“There’s a fair force behind that river,” Náin observed.  “I wouldn’t want to be down here when that happens!”

Elrohir shivered.  “Nor me.”

“The rock down here is different than in the upper tunnels.  All the lodes and seams of ore have been worked, so there are lots of fissures and cracks.  It’s why there’s so much water in these parts of the mine, and why some of the tunnels are unstable.  It’ll be why they had to shore up the passages, and why that rockfall happened.  It’s not safe – I’ll have to warn Balin to keep to the upper levels.  There’s nothing down here of worth anyway.”

Soon they heard low voices and the clump of heavy feet as Estel and Bilbur returned.  Despite their worried looks, Elrohir could not help but feel relieved that they were back, unscathed.

“What did you find, Estel?”  Elladan asked.

“Trouble.”  Estel replied.  “The tunnel ahead opens out into a cave, and the path continues along a narrow ledge, high up on one side.”

“And?”  Elrohir prompted. 

“And the cave was swarming with orcs – it seems to be their main living quarters!  I saw sleeping areas and small cooking fires.  Another cave opens off it, and I saw more fire there.”

“Which may or may not be the dragon,”  Bilbur added.  “It could be forges or smelting fires.”

“There was something down there,”  Estel insisted.  “I couldn’t see it, but I felt it.  There was something.”

Náin snorted.  “Elvish fantasies,”  he muttered to himself.

Farin ignored him, stroking his beard.  “Bilbur?”

“He’s right.  There was nothing I could see, but something I didn’t like the feel of.”

Náin snorted again.

“But the point is,”  Estel added, “If  just one of the orcs we could see looks up, they’ll see us.  We’d be easy targets.”

“And there’s no other way unless we go back through the water trap,”  Bilbur concluded.

“Then we have to go on,”  Elladan decided.

“Aye.”

Elrohir rubbed the back of his neck.  He still felt tense and uneasy, and knew that Estel was right – there was something near.  “Can we distract them?” 

Elladan nodded.  “If we can cause a diversion to keep them occupied, we would have a much better chance of escaping their notice.”

“A diversion.  But what?”

The perfect, but surely impractical solution occurred to Elrohir.  He glanced at Farin, and a slow grin spread across the dwarf’s face as the same idea came to him. 

“A diversion?”  he rumbled.  “Aye, I reckon we could arrange that!”  He rolled the map up and pushed it back into his pack.  “We send the river down into the orc caves.  There’s enough water to douse any dragon’s fire, and it’ll give the orcs something to think about too.”

Bilbur gave a fierce grin,  “I like that idea!”  she agreed.

“But how will you do that?”  Estel asked the question Elrohir had been wondering.

Farin shrugged.  “We are dwarves.  We work with stone,”  he replied – which did not really explain anything at all, Elrohir reflected.  The three dwarves began to pace along the tunnel wall, listening and tapping the rock here and there with their axes.  They consulted in their own tongue as they worked, the deep, rumbling words blending with the muffled thunder of the water.  Three times they walked the length of the wall, seeming to pay more attention to one particular spot – and after a while, they paused together. 

Farin tapped the rock one more time, and they all nodded.  “This is the place,”  he announced.  “The rock is weakest just here.  We can break through to the river.  And then the slope of the tunnels will funnel it nicely just where we want it to go!”

He drew a narrow metal spike from his pack and drove it into the wall with a few blows of his hammer.  “Right!”  he said with deep satisfaction.  “That’s it.”

“That’s it?”  Estel echoed.  “What – is that all?  What will happen now?”

“First, I suggest we move,”  Farin advised.  Water was already seeping around the peg.  “We don’t want to stay here!  Then watch.”

They moved up the steep tunnel towards the second cave until Farin stopped again.  Glancing back, Elrohir could see a steady trickle of water running down the wall, growing all the time.   Tiny rivulets joined it as other cracks formed, and soon a small stream flowed from the wall and down the steep tunnel.

“Any moment now …”  Farin muttered to himself.

With a thunderous roar that made everyone but the dwarves jump, the wall burst apart.  Water cascaded into the tunnel in a torrent, foaming and bubbling like a mighty waterfall.   The level rose as the backflow eddied about the fallen wall, swirling around the tunnel before pouring down into the shaft that led to the orcs’ cave.  Even above the roar of the water Elrohir could hear sudden cries of alarm, rising to a tumultuous chorus of despair.  The red glow flickered and went out, and then there was only darkness and the rage of the unleashed river.

To Be Continued

Author Notes:  Many, many thanks to Fimbrethiel for betaing this for me!!

Chapter Eleven – The Bridge Of Khazad-Dûm

The roar of the water gradually diminished as the river found its new path, and slowly the level dropped away leaving a tide line of fine grit and dust near their feet.  Ahead, the path they had climbed was submerged beneath a foaming torrent.

After a moment or two, Farin got to his feet.  “That’s that!”  he said with satisfaction.  “Shall we go on?”

They walked on to the end of the tunnel in silence, awed by the force of nature that had been unleashed.  Peering down into the cave they saw dark, swirling water surging below them, and debris floating on the surface.  Among the flotsam a stray leather bucket bobbed up and down in the current.

Dark, still shapes of drowned orcs were everywhere, but here and there some still struggled weakly against the current.  There were some orcs who could swim, but they had all had been helpless against the torrent of water.  As Elrohir watched he saw one drawn remorselessly towards an eddying whirlpool in one corner of the cave.  The creature scrabbled helplessly at the walls before being sucked down as the water flowed on into the lower tunnels.

Elrohir shivered.  Although he hated all orcs, those he killed died swiftly and cleanly.  This slow, struggling death in darkness and fear filled him with horror and an odd pity.

“Do you think they all drowned?”  Estel asked, his voice quiet.

Farin shrugged.  “Most of them,”  he agreed.

“There are bound to be some who escaped,”  Elladan warned.  “Maybe some who were patrolling the upper tunnels or perhaps managed to flee the flood – but how many?”

“And what about the dragon?”  asked Bilbur. 

Elrohir peered into the darkness of the caverns.  The red glow of firelight had gone, and the caverns were dank and cold.  The only light came from the torch Farin held as they gazed down on the black waters.  “Gone,”  he guessed.  “Gone back into the deep places of the world where it came from.”  The taint of evil still lingered faintly, but it seemed more distant more – cleansed, perhaps, by the rushing water.

“Is it dead?”   Náin questioned.

“Who knows?”  Farin replied.  “That would be too much to hope for, I think.  But perhaps its fire is extinguished for a time.  We will warn Balin to be wary!  But now we need to move on.”

The ledge around the cave was narrow indeed, as Estel had warned.  Elrohir guessed that it had once been much wider, but the rock had been worn away over time until it was little more than a rim around the side of the cavern. 

He stepped onto it cautiously, pressing his back against the wall and trying not to look down at the dark waters below him.   The rock was crumbling and unstable, and littered with grit and debris.   The constant trickle of water down the rock and over the ledge had left a thin green slime in places which made the path even more treacherous.  In places the rock had fallen away completely, leaving great gaps to step across – easy for him, but hard for the shorter legged dwarves.  Edging sideways, he slid his foot along the ledge, feeling for firm footing and whispering encouragement to Bilbur behind him, taking her hand and helping her across the widest gaps.

The uneven cave ceiling dropped low at times, forcing them to duck and bend forward while still trying to keep a balance on the narrow ledge.  In one such place they came to a halt as Estel encountered a spur of rock that jutted out into the cave.   As he tried to edge around it his foot slipped on the treacherous, crumbling surface.  A stone broke loose, splashing down into the black water far below them, and Estel pressed himself back against the wall, breathing hard.  He glanced back over Farin’s head towards Elrohir, panic in his eyes, but Farin thrust out a sinewy arm and gripped Estel’s wrist tightly.  “Easy, lad,”  he reassured.  “I’ve got you.  Just keep going.” 

Elrohir breathed again as Estel negotiated the spur.  This was easier for the dwarves – shorter, and more closely rooted to the earth, they could slide beneath the outcrop without difficulty.  Past this obstacle, the ledge widened again, then plunged into yet another tunnel that climbed even more steeply.

“It’s not far now,”  Farin called back over his shoulder as he once more led them on.   “There’s a hall ahead, and a bridge, then a long flight of steps. Then we’ll reach the main hall, and the way out.”

“Thank the Valar for that,”  Estel breathed.  “I hate these tunnels!  I hope I never, ever, have to set foot in them again.” 

Elrohir nodded.  He too longed to be free of this place; to see the light of sun and stars and feel the wind and rain upon his face.  “Not far now,”  he echoed, trusting to Farin’s knowledge of the mines.

The path climbed, crossed a wide corridor, and then climbed again.  The rough walls had given way to dressed stone and the floor was more even underfoot.  They reached an archway at the end of the tunnel and Farin stopped again.  “Be careful across here,”  he warned.  “You’ll soon see why!”

They emerged into another wide, echoing hall.  It stretched away on both sides, the emptiness broken only by pillars marching into the distance, supporting the vast roof.  It seemed to be some sort of meeting place – several arches opened onto the hall, the tunnels or steps behind them lost in darkness.  Farin led the way across the hall, then turned.  “Careful,”  he warned again.  “There’s a long drop!”

A great chasm opened before them, a pit of blackness that seemed to have no end.  Like the hall itself it ran endlessly to the left and right, vanishing into the gloom.  They stopped on the edge of the abyss, and Elrohir leaned forward, peering down.  The blackness before him was so complete that his eyes seemed to play tricks on him – was the drop before them merely a few feet or a few fathoms, or far, far greater?  He could not tell. 

Estel appeared at his side.  Glancing at Elladan for permission, Estel held the nearly extinguished torch he carried above the chasm, then dropped it.  Elrohir watched as the flame flickered more and more faintly as it fell, finally dying away into a dim spark before the darkness swallowed it.  “How deep is this?”  he asked in awe.

Farin scratched at his chin.  “No one knows.  It’s said to be measureless.  If you’d fallen in there, you’d still be wondering when you’d hit the bottom!”

Above, the rock soared upward as the chasm continued.  Other halls and chambers opened onto it above them, but the chasm cut through them all.  Far, far above them there was a bridge, a single narrow span that leapt across the gap.  Apart from the bridge, the chasm was featureless and endless.

“How do we cross?”  Estel asked.  He pointed upwards.  “Do we have to climb up there?”

Farin shook his head.  “No.  There’s another bridge on this level.  There’s only the two.  Follow me!”

They followed Farin along the edge of the abyss towards a narrow, flimsy looking rope bridge.  Despite his relief that they would soon be out of the countless caves and tunnels, Elrohir felt a prickle of unease growing again.  He slowed and looked around.  Beside him, Elladan also drew to a halt.

“Come on!”  Náin urged impatiently.  “I thought you wanted to be out of here?”

“I can hear something,”  Elladan explained softly.

“Aye,”  Elrohir agreed, wishing they were both wrong.  “Orcs.”

“Orcs?  Are you sure?”  Farin demanded.

Elladan gave a single nod.  “Yes.”

“How far?”

“There!”

An orc appeared far behind them across the hall.  Its howl of glee as it saw them echoed around the hall, then ended in a choked scream as Elladan’s arrow felled it.  Another leapt over the body, only to stumble and fall with another arrow in its chest.

“Damn,”  Elladan whispered.  “I knew they had not all drowned.”  

More and more orcs poured into the hall.  Whether the creatures had come from the same tunnel they themselves had used, or from one of the many other archways, Elrohir could not tell – he only knew that there were too many to fight.  Reflex and training made him reach behind for arrows –  but his own weapons were lost, broken in the rock fall.  And although dwarves could be doughty fighters, these had neither bows nor arrows.  They could expect little support from Farin or his companions.  On that thought, a small axe whirred past his head as Náin hurled it at the orcs, sinking deep into the chest of the nearest orc.  He glanced down at Náin with increased respect.  “Nice shot,” he murmured.

“It’s a throwing axe,”  Náin explained.  “Small, but perfectly balanced – and with a long range.  I could hit …”

“Never mind that now!”  Farin shouted.  “Come on – this way.  To the bridge!”

They ran along the side of the chasm towards the bridge.  A mesh of fraying ropes supported worn, narrow wooden slats, some of which were missing.  It sagged as it crossed the chasm, and looked as if it would collapse beneath the slightest weight.  “We cross that?”  Elladan demanded.

“It’s an ancient defence,”  Farin explained breathlessly.  “There are only two crossing points, and both are narrow.  Enemies must cross in single file.”

“And so must we,”  Elladan muttered.  “Estel!  You go first!”

Estel hesitated, looking back at the pursuing orcs.  “Go on!”  Elrohir shouted.  “We have to get across.   You will have to give cover from the other side.”

Estel nodded, and stepped onto the bridge.  It swayed and swung beneath him, the ropes creaking as they stretched.  It dipped even more as he moved further out over the abyss, and he gripped the ropes tightly, casting an uncertain glance back at his brothers before continuing as quickly as he dared.  Bilbur followed him, and the bridge sagged even lower.  She shuffled across slowly, eyes fixed on her feet as she inched forward, clutching at the rope hand rails.

“Right – you next!”  Farin instructed, turning to Elrohir.

Elrohir hesitated, as reluctant to leave Elladan as he was to step onto the bridge – it did not look sturdy enough to support three of them.  As he looked back, Elladan dropped to one knee and fired a stream of arrows at the pursuing orcs.  As those in the lead fell, the others slowed their pursuit a little – but not enough. 

“Go on, El – I cannot hold them off for long!”  Elladan shouted.

Elrohir stepped onto the bridge with Farin close behind him.  It grieved him to flee, but he knew they could not stand and fight.  There were too few of them, and too many orcs – and it was vital that they reported back on the discoveries they had made.

The bridge creaked and groaned ominously.  The ropes were old, fraying in places, and felt dry and coarse beneath his hands.  The wooden slats were thin and splintered, and some were missing entirely.  Through the gaps he could look down – at nothing but blackness.  He could see nothing, but a chill, dank air flowed up from the depths.  Treading carefully, he stepped across the cracked boards and soon caught up with Bilbur, still plodding ahead slowly and steadily. 

“Bilbur, for Aulë’s sake hurry up!”  Farin roared from behind.

“I’m going as fast as I can!”  she snapped back.  “You know I don’t like heights!”

“You can’t see the drop below us, so what difference does it make?”  Farin demanded.

Despite their tense situation, Elrohir grinned.  The sibling squabble sounded so very familiar.  It could be Elladan and Estel, or him and Arwen.  Quite how the short, stocky dwarf woman reminded him of his elegant sister he could not have said – but she did.

“It’s still there!”  Bilbur retorted with an infallible logic that reminded him even more of Arwen.  She also had a way of sweetly pointing out the obvious.

As the orcs drew closer, arrows flew among them.  One struck Bilbur on the back but it fell away, deflected by her stout chain mail.  It had the effect of spurring her on a little, but most of the arrows fell short, the orcs’ bows too puny to reach far.  Estel had finally reached the safety of the far side and shot a series of arrows across the chasm, felling some of the orcs in the lead – but he too had few arrows left.

Elrohir glanced back.  Elladan still held the orcs at bay, but he had nearly exhausted his supply of arrows. As he watched, another orc fell with Elladan’s last arrow in its throat.  Elladan turned and ran for the bridge with Náin at his side.  As they reached the crossing, Náin turned and hurled another axe at the orcs, then started across the bridge with Elladan close behind him. 

More arrows fell among them, and Elrohir’s back crawled as he half expected to feel a black feathered shaft between his shoulders.  One struck the rail of rope supporting the bridge, slicing through the strands.  One by one, they began to fray and unravel.  At last Bilbur reached the far side of the chasm and pulled herself up onto the stone ledge.  “I’m glad to feel solid ground beneath my feet again!” she grumbled to Farin as he joined her.

Elrohir looked back.  Elladan was halfway across now – but the pursuing orcs had reached the bridge.  They poured across it, swarming like rats climbing up a mooring rope.  Nimble and fast, they soon began to gain on Elladan, caught behind the slower Náin.   Elrohir’s fingers itched for a weapon, but he was helpless to do anything but watch.  “Hurry, El!”  he shouted.

As more and more orcs began to stream onto the bridge it began to creak and sway alarmingly.  It dropped lower as the ropes supporting it stretched.  Some strands snapped and began to fray as the ropes began to unravel.

“There’s too much weight on it!”  Estel whispered.  “It will never hold!”

Elrohir did not reply.  All his attention was focused on Elladan, and willing him to safety.  He began a silent chant, then realised he was whispering: “Come on, El.  Keep going.  Just a little further …”  As he watched, a rope on the furthest side snapped completely.  The bridge lurched sharply to one side, then dropped in a series of jerks as one rope after another broke, ending with a mighty jolt that threw Elladan and Náin off balance and flung several orcs screaming into the abyss.  Elladan fell to his knees, clinging tightly to the rail ropes.  Elrohir took an instinctive leap forward, but Farin gripped his arm, holding him back.  “There’s nothing you can do.  Let’s just hope it lasts long enough.”

Náin began scrambling across the bridge as fast as he could go, hampered by the heavy boots he wore.  Elladan pulled himself to his feet and closed the gap between them, keeping a sharp watch on the orcs.  The orcs on the bridge had stopped their pursuit and seemed to be trying to retreat to safety, but they were overwhelmed as more and more of their comrades swarmed onto the bridge, seeming oblivious to the danger.  As they fought to pass, trampling each other in their haste, many more fell to their deaths.

The net of ropes supporting the bridge began to pull apart, unravelling like knitting.

Another rope snapped and one side collapsed, causing the bridge to tilt wildly.  Screaming, wailing orcs fell into the abyss, but Elladan and Náin still clung on grimly, half climbing and half running towards the end.

It would not be enough, Elrohir realised.  The bridge continued to collapse beneath them, and the final few ropes were not strong enough to support it.  He whirled around.  “Estel!”  he commanded.  “Your rope – quickly!”

Estel stared at him, stunned.  “Yes, of course!” he cried and dropped his pack on the floor.  He tore it open and hauled out the rope they had used through the water tunnel.  Holding the coil in one hand he ran to the edge to cast it across to Elladan.

They were too late.  As Elrohir watched in horror, the strain on the bridge became too great and it broke apart.  The two ends fell away, plummeting down into the blackness and shedding wailing orcs like leaves in autumn – and taking Elladan and Náin down as well.

Elrohir gave a last, despairing cry.  “Elladan!”

To Be Continued

Chapter Twelve – Hanging By A Thread

Estel was frozen with horror as the bridge broke apart and fell into the great chasm, too stunned even to cry out. 

Elladan – Elladan was dead.

He stared blindly at the black pit, then stumbled as he was pushed roughly aside.  Elrohir leapt past him with a despairing cry, flinging himself forward, and Estel at last freed himself from his numbed shock.  Throwing his arms around Elrohir, he held his brother back as he shouted Elladan’s name again.  “No, Elrohir,”  he choked as tears streamed down his face.  “No.  It is too late.”  Elrohir struggled against him, but Estel held on tightly, the tears blinding him.   “Elrohir!  Listen to me – stop!  Please.  Not you as well!”

Elrohir swore.  “Let go of me, Estel!”   he demanded.  “Let go!”  Suddenly, to Estel’s shock, an elbow slammed back into his stomach and Elrohir broke free, leaping towards the abyss.  Winded and doubled over as he gasped for breath, Estel stared as for a terrifying, heart-stopping moment he feared that his brother, maddened by grief, would throw himself into the chasm after Elladan – but instead Elrohir dropped to the ground at the edge of the void, peering down into the darkness.  “Elladan!”  he called.  “Can you hear me?”

“What?”  Estel stared at him, still gasping, then dropped to Elrohir’s side. “What is it?  Is he there?”  He looked down, but could see nothing but a great black pit disappearing into even greater darkness.  “Elrohir?”

Elrohir was silent for so long that Estel began to worry again.  “I can see him,” Elrohir replied at last.  “About fifty feet away, I think.  He … it looks like he is caught on something – it is difficult to see what.  It is too dark.  But yes, he is there.”

Relief hit Estel with all the force of a dwarf’s hammer.  He rubbed his sleeve across his eyes and sniffed, then wiped his nose as well.  “Sorry,”  he muttered to Elrohir.

“Why?”  Elrohir sounded surprised.  “Tears are no weakness – there is no shame in crying.  But …”  He paused again, peering down into the darkness, and Estel wondered how he could see anything at all.  “I cannot see Náin.  It may be that he is lower down – but I think I can see the bottom of the ladder.  He is not there.”  Elrohir shook his head, talking half to himself.  “No.”

Farin and Bilbur were also on their hands and knees on the brink of the precipice, peering down.  “Are they there?”  Farin asked, squinting into the darkness.  “What about Náin?”

Estel exchanged a swift glance with Elrohir, who shook his head again.  “I am sorry,”  Elrohir began.  “I think he fell.  I cannot see him.”

Bilbur gave a soft wail, and Estel found himself resting a hand on her shoulder in a vain attempt at comfort.  “I am sorry,”  he murmured.  “He was a brave companion.”  He was surprised at his own sorrow.  His initial dislike and distrust of Náin after the surly dwarf’s disparaging remarks about Elrohir had been replaced as they travelled by respect and a reluctant admiration.

With a final pat on Bilbur’s shoulder Estel rose and stepped back from the brink of the precipice, searching the shadows on the far side for any sign of orcs.  They could not risk dropping their guard, and Elrohir’s attention was focused almost entirely on Elladan.  Despite his own anxiety over his brother, someone had to keep watch.

Apart from dead orcs littering the floor, the hall opposite was deserted.  There was no trace of any others.  A single strand of rope, still swaying slightly, hung from the one remaining support.  He cast a swift, anxious look over his shoulder, searching the shadows behind them as well, but nothing stirred.  The halls were silent and deserted, and the only sounds he could hear was their own breathing, Bilbur’s soft weeping and a distant roar of water far, far below them

Estel peered down into the chasm again. He could see nothing but the broken bridge, still hanging precariously by one rope.  A few splintered planks spiralled out from the single support like the rungs of a twisted ladder, but they soon vanished into the gloom.  How could Elrohir see anything?  He wished again that he had the Elven eyesight of his brothers – but try as he might, he could see nothing beyond a few feet.  “I can’t see anything,”  he admitted.  “Are you sure?”

“That Elladan is there?  Yes.”

Estel shrugged.  He knew better than to argue with either of his brothers over this – they both had an uncanny ability to sense the whereabouts and wellbeing of the other.  Elladan had once confessed that as a child he had never really understood the point of the game of hide and seek – ‘We always knew where we were,’ he had explained.

Estel looked down again.  He could still see no further, but the bridge did not hang limply into the void.  There was a tension on the one remaining rope, still attached to a stout wooden pier.  The rope was stretched tight, as if there was a weight on it, though it still held for now.  He just hoped it was Elladan at the bottom, not an orc.   “There is something there,”   he breathed.  “I think you are right.” 

“I know I am.”

“Then what are we going to do?”

Elrohir scrambled to his feet.  “I am going to climb down – I have no idea how long that last support will hold.  Farin, do you have another rope?  I need two – one for me, one for Elladan.”   He nodded as Bilbur thrust a coil of rope from her pack at him. “Thank you.  I will try to find out what I can of Náin,”  he added, “but I do not hold out much hope.”

Tying two loops in the rope, Elrohir slipped the makeshift harness around his body. “I should be able to climb down, but there may be places where you will have to lower me.  And when I reach Elladan you will have to support my weight completely – I will need my hands free.  Keep me well away from the bridge until then – I fear the slightest touch could bring it down.”

Farin frowned and shook his head.  “How fast can you climb?  We’ll lower you all the way.  It’ll be quicker.  We will not let you fall!” 

“Elrohir, wait – let me come with you!”  Estel begged.  “If Elladan is injured, you may need help with him.”

Elrohir nodded.  “I know that, and I wish you could help me, little brother.  But I will have to go alone.  Farin and Bilbur will not be able to hold both of us – let alone Elladan as well.  I need you here, Estel.”  He handed the end of his rope to Estel and added, “You will hold my life in your hands.”

Estel took a deep breath, recognising the trust Elrohir placed in him.  “Yes.  I will not let you fall, Elrohir.  Will you take the torch with you?  You’ll need to see what you’re doing.”

Elrohir hesitated, then shook his head.  “No.  I will need to keep my hands free – and do not want to risk burning through the rope!  I should be able to see well enough.  Bilbur, drop the other rope down to me when I call.  I will need to tie it around Elladan when I reach him.”

Farin nodded.  “You can rely on us.  We’ll not drop you!” 

Estel looked back at the thick wooden piers that had supported the bridge, two massive tree trunks set in solid stone.  A piece of frayed rope trailed from one.  He crossed to the trunk and kicked at it.  “Farin?  Is this oak?”

The dwarf nodded.

“The wood still seems sound.  We can tie both ropes around this as an anchor.”  He looked back at Elrohir.  “We won’t drop you, but I don’t want to take any risks with you and Elladan.”

Elrohir nodded and reached out to ruffle Estel’s hair.  “Well thought, little brother.”  He smiled.  “I am glad you are here with us.”  Then, as he sat on the brink of the abyss he added, “Estel – keep a watch out for orcs as well.  They were not all killed, and some may still find a way across.”

“I will.  And Elrohir – be careful.”

Elrohir gave a quick smile.   Estel took the rope with Farin, bracing himself as Elrohir twisted around and slid over the edge, then vanished into the darkness.

o-o-o

As Elrohir lowered himself over the brink of the precipice, he felt the immediate bite of the rope sling he sat in as it dug into him beneath his arms and thighs.  Yet the discomfort was minor compared with everything else they had endured, and he ignored it as Estel lowered him with a series of jerks.

The wall was not quite as smooth as he had feared, and he was able to find occasional hand and foot holds as he went down, which eased the pressure of the rope.  The darkness grew all around him, and as he looked up he could see only the dim flicker of the torch and the small figure of one of the dwarves – probably Bilbur – standing at the edge looking down.   He raised a hand in greeting, though he knew Bilbur would almost certainly be unable to see him.

It was a relief to be finally doing something.  He had felt so helpless for so long; first recovering from his own injuries, and then watching as the bridge broke apart beneath Elladan, and knowing that there was nothing he could do to prevent it.  There had been one heart-stopping moment of pure terror as Elladan plunged into the darkness, a horror beyond any nightmare – but then he had breathed again, knowing that somehow, impossible as it seemed, Elladan still lived.

He shivered, banishing the recurring image from his mind, though he knew it would return to haunt his dreams.  Elladan was alive – but only for as long as the bridge still held.  To say his life hung by a thread was only too true.

He peered downwards, but could still see very little.  A breath of cold, dank air welled up from the depths far below him.  He listened intently, but could hear no sound apart from his own breathing and an occasional muttered curse from above, seeming faint and far away.  He felt very alone, suspended here in almost total darkness, and his unruly imagination began conjuring demons and monsters from half-remembered stories – great black winged creatures flying up silently from the depths to snatch him from his perch like a bat would snap an insect out of the air; or the feeling fingers of the Mewlips reaching out from hidden cracks and crevices in the rock.  He cursed Glorfindel silently.  The tales that had given him nightmares as a child had not been forgotten.

A voice called to him from above, jolting him back to reality.  “Elrohir!  Are you all right?”

“Yes!”  He looked down, and saw Elladan just a few feet below him.  His right arm seemed to be entangled in the mesh of ropes, but it was a fortunate thing – it was all that had prevented him from plunging into the void.  As he had feared, there was no sign at all of Náin.  “I am nearly there,” he called back.  “Bilbur, throw down the other rope.”

The second rope came snaking down beside him and he caught at the end of it.  Dropping a few more feet he finally drew level with Elladan, who still hung motionless, dangling helplessly over the endless drop.  “Stop now!”  he called again.   “I am going to reach for Elladan.  Be ready.”

He wrapped one arm around Elladan’s waist, holding him tightly and tying the spare rope around him.  Now, whatever happened, Elladan would not fall.  “I have him!”  he shouted.  “Now wait – I need to cut him free.”

“El, can you hear me?” Elrohir whispered.  There was no response, but he continued to talk to Elladan out of habit. “How did you get tangled in the ropes like this?   It is just as well, though.  It was all that stopped you from falling like poor Náin, I suppose.  Now, to cut you loose …”

As he took out his knife, the rope holding him jerked and dropped another couple of feet, accompanied by loud cursing from Bilbur.  “Farin, you half-baked nitwit, don’t let go!”

“I didn’t – my boots slipped!”

“I told you – you need iron nails in the soles!  Better grip!”

Elrohir did not even have time to smile.  The sudden jolt and drop transferred his own weight to the remnants of the bridge, and proved too much.   The final supporting strand snapped, and the wreckage of ropes and broken wooden slats fell past him into darkness.  Elladan, still ensnared in rope, was nearly tugged from Elrohir’s hold, and Elrohir uttered a fierce and thankful prayer that he had used Bilbur’s rope in time.

There was a yell from Estel.  “Elladan!   Elrohir – have you got him?  Elrohir!”

“Yes!”  Elrohir called, his heart beating furiously.  “Yes.”  He cut through the ropes still twisted around Elladan’s wrist, and the remains of the bridge fell away.  “We are safe.”  He clung to Elladan, though Bilbur’s rope still held him securely.  “Pull us up now.”

Estel’s voice drifted down to them.  “We can’t pull you both up at once.  Let go of Elladan so that we can get him first.  Both the ropes are tied around the bridge support, so you’re quite safe.  Tell me when you’re ready.”

“All right – give me a moment.”  Elrohir checked the rope around Elladan again, testing the knot, then shook Elladan gently.  “El – can you hear me?  Wake up.  Estel and the dwarves are going to pull you up now.  They will not let you fall.  Are you ready?”

To his great relief Elladan stirred against him, lifting his head and giving a pale smile.  “El,” he murmured.  “I thought I might find you down here with me.”

“Elladan – thank the Valar!  Are you injured at all?”

Elladan shook his head slowly.  “Not really – just my arm.”

“Your arm?  Yes – you were tangled up in the ropes from the bridge.  It was just as well.  It was all that stopped you falling.  But the ropes have cut and scraped your arm badly.”

“Not that – anyway, that was deliberate.  I wrapped the rope around my arm when I knew the bridge was going to fall and just hoped that some of the supports might hold.  But it must have hit the wall harder than I expected.”

Elrohir gave a brief smile, though it faded quickly.  “Well, thank the Gods you thought so quickly!  But El – what about Náin?  What happened to him?”

“Náin – Náin fell.”  Elladan’s breath hitched slightly.  “I tried to catch him, but he was gone – and that was the last thing I remember.”

Elrohir bowed his head in sorrow.  He had feared as much, but it was still a blow.  “Ah, poor Náin,” he murmured at last.  “He did not deserve to die like that.”  He sighed. “But we will have to grieve later – first we have to get you out of here.  Estel and the dwarves are going to pull you up, and then we can have a look at your arm.” 

Turning his head, he called up to Estel.  “Ready now!  Look after him, Estel.”  He released his hold on Elladan reluctantly, watching as his brother was hauled up the sheer cliff slowly and steadily, until at last hands at the top reached out to grab him and pull him to safety.  “We’ve got him!”  Estel called.  “Now you, Elrohir.”

His own ascent was slow, but at last Farin and Estel were reaching out to seize his arms as he crawled onto the blessedly solid ground at the top of the chasm. He gripped Estel’s arm tightly.  “Well done, little brother,” he murmured.  Shrugging out of the rope harness, he turned to Farin.  “Elladan says Náin fell,” he explained.  “I am so very sorry.”

Farin gave a curt nod.  “I know.  It was what we’d feared.”  He sighed, then looked up at Elrohir.  “Your brother’s not to blame himself,” he said, his tone gruff.  “I doubt there’s anything he could have done.”

“No, but …”  Elrohir was amazed at the dwarf’s compassion.  He took Farin’s hands between his. “Thank you,” he added, feeling it was rather inadequate.  As he glanced down, light from the torch shone onto his hands, and he stared – they were stained red with blood.  But not his, nor Farin’s. 

“Elladan!”  he called sharply, crossing to where Elladan stood rather unsteadily next to Bilbur.  “I thought you said you were not badly hurt?”

“I told you – my arm, but it is just a cut.”

Bilbur snorted as she took a roll of bandage from one of the packs.  “That’s more than a cut!  It’s slashed to the bone.  What happened?”

The sleeve of Elladan’s tunic was ripped and torn, and sodden with blood.  Elrohir peeled away the ripped fabric as blood poured from a gash that ran the length of Elladan’s inner forearm from elbow to wrist and continued across the palm of his hand.  Elrohir drew in his breath.  “How did you do that?” he demanded.

“I am trying to tell you, if you would let me!”  Elladan retorted.  He looked at the bone deep slash and frowned.  “It was Náin’s axe.  When the ropes broke and we fell, Náin tried to dig his axe into the bridge to anchor himself, but the wood simply splintered apart.  He fell.  I tried to catch him as he tumbled past me, but there was only his axe.  Náin was gone.”  He stifled a gasp of pain as Estel turned his arm slightly.

“You tried to hold his axe?  Idiot,”  Elrohir muttered.  He glanced up briefly.  “Estel, is there any light?  I need to see properly.”

Estel picked up the one remaining torch and scrabbled in his pack for kindling.  As the flame caught and burned, he moved closer to his brothers, holding the torch so that the light fell across Elladan’s arm.

Elrohir gave him a swift smile and a nod of thanks, then cast a quick glance across the chasm and all around them.  “I need to bandage this now.  Estel, hold the torch still and keep watch for me,” he instructed.  He took the roll of bandage from Bilbur.  “It really needs to be stitched, but there is no time.  At least there is no risk of poison, and the cut is fairly clean.”  He made swift work of cleaning and bandaging the deep cut, swathing Elladan’s arm from his elbow to his fingers; working with the speed of one long used to treating wounds on the field of battle.

As Elrohir worked, Elladan turned again to the dwarves.  “Farin … I am so sorry about Náin.  I wish there was more I could have done.  I tried – but it was just too late.”

Farin grunted.  “You’re not to blame.  At least you tried.”  

Bilbur nodded.  “You did more than anyone could expect,”  she added gruffly.

“And perhaps more than Náin would have done,”  Farin admitted.  “He was beginning to change his mind, but he still didn’t fully trust elves.”

Elrohir glanced up.  “Náin was a true son of Aulë.  I am sorry he will have no tomb.” 

“No tomb?”  Farin echoed.  “You see it all around you.  The whole of Moria is his tomb.”  He and Bilbur bowed their heads together, turning away in silent contemplation.

Elrohir finished the bandaging in silence, and finally tucked the ends of the linen beneath the wrappings.  “Done,”  he said at last.  “That will do for now.”

Elladan flexed his hand carefully, then nodded.  “Good.  I can still hold a sword.  And now we had better move.  Farin?  Bilbur?  Are you ready?  We have to get out of here.”

Farin clapped Bilbur on the back and turned back to the others.  “We are ready.  Come now.  We are nearly at the gates.”

To be continued …

Author’s Notes:  Many thanks to Aglarien for her sterling beta work, and also to Ainisarie for her help.

Chapter Thirteen – Kheled-Zâram

They set off across the hall in silence.  As Estel followed his brothers and the dwarfs, he cast a final look back at the gaping chasm and shivered.  Although the sense of dread and oppressive darkness had eased a little, the memories lingered and he knew he would never lose his horror of this place – the orcs, the rockfall and Elrohir’s injuries; the nightmare of the crawl through the water-filled tunnel and the heart-stopping terror when it seemed that Elladan had fallen to his death. And poor, poor Náin. 

With a shudder Estel hurried to catch up with the others.  The blackness behind him was absolute, and orcs or no orcs, he did not wish to become lost in this accursed pit again.  The idea of wandering through the never-ending maze of tunnels and passages in eternal, unyielding darkness terrified him even more than the orcs did.  That thought brought him back to Náin again – tumbling into the chasm and falling endlessly through darkness …

Estel knew he was not the only one in a sombre mood.  The dwarves trudged ahead silently, lost in their own grief, and his brothers too were silent.  He was worried about them.  Apart from one or two brief stops there had been no real opportunity for any of them to rest, and the long dark journey was taking its toll. 

Elladan walked slowly at his side, his injured arm obviously paining him far more than he admitted.  He held it stiffly and bent close against his chest to avoid jarring it, and even in the dim, flickering torchlight Estel could see dark patches of blood already seeping through the bandages.  As he watched Elladan grimaced and cradled his arm with his free hand.

Elrohir lagged behind them, his steps slow and dragging.  He was limping again and not making any attempt to conceal it – either he no longer felt the need to hide any weakness from the dwarves, or he was too tired to care.  He looked grey with exhaustion, and the bruises left from the rock fall stood out starkly.  Estel stopped and waited for him.  “Elrohir?  Do you want to stop?”

Elrohir shook his head tiredly.  “No.  Just keep going, little brother.  The sooner we are out of here the better – and the sooner we can all rest.”

Estel nodded.  He had no intention of pressing the issue – he was only too anxious to leave Moria far, far behind.  The way ahead was clear now and they moved across the hall to a distant archway, on the lookout the whole time for some form of pursuit.  Estel was taut with tension, waiting for an attack that never came.  The orcs had vanished, and the caverns were silent apart from the heavy tread of the dwarves’ boots.  As they climbed a series of wide stairways a pale glimmer of light grew, revealing intricate carvings on the walls and pillars.  The air – which had been stale and dank for so long – began to freshen, and Estel caught the faint scent of clean, cool rain.  His heart lifted a little and his steps quickened.  Soon they would be out of this dreadful place – and he hoped he would never return.

“We have come to the main caverns again,” Farin explained, speaking for the first time since they had left the bridge.  “We are near the outer world here.”  At the head of the final stairway they saw ahead of them the first hall they had entered so long ago.  Daylight streamed in through the open doors, dazzling their eyes after the long journey in near darkness.  They crossed the hall and passed the threshold of Moria, emerging at the top of the steps.

Pausing, Estel glanced back through the massive door pillars.  It felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  He was not alone – at his side, Elrohir lifted his face to the breeze and drew a deep breath, and a little of the exhaustion in his face eased.

Dimrill Dale lay before them, peaceful and serene.  Patches of grass and leaves on the stunted trees glistened with droplets from a recent shower of rain.  The air smelled fresh and clean, and a light wind stirred the branches of the fir tree at the bottom of the steps, shaking loose a glittering spray of raindrops.  The dale lay in deep shadow but away to the east the trees of Lórien were tinged red and gold by the fading sun.

“I think we are safe here,” Estel said at last, “but we should move out of bowshot in case there are any orcs that might still be lurking somewhere in Moria.

Farin raised his arm and pointed further down the dale.  “There is a place a mile or two from here.  We can stop there and rest before we go on.”

Estel glanced at his brothers and nodded.  “Then lead the way.”

They trudged in weary silence, following the track away from the gates of Moria past tumbled mounds of stone and outcrops of rock.  Finally they halted on a smooth stretch of grass that overlooked a small lake.  “I think we should all stop here,” Estel suggested.  “We all need rest – and we can never hope to reach Lórien by nightfall.”

“No, we must press on!”  Elladan protested.  He was very pale, and the bandages on his arm were bright with blood.  “I want to report our findings without delay.  We must tell Celeborn and Galadriel what we discovered.”

Estel sighed.  His brothers were each as bad as the other when it came to sheer, bloody-minded obstinacy.  He glared at Elladan.  “Stubborn does not even begin to describe you – or Elrohir!” he snapped.  “You look exhausted – both of you.  A few hours’ delay will make no difference.  Your arm is still bleeding, and needs stitching.  How far do you think you will get before you collapse from loss of blood?”

Elladan stared at him. 

“Listen to me!  Sit down and rest – and let Elrohir rest as well,” Estel added slyly.  Elladan might ignore his own needs, but he would be far more likely to stop for Elrohir’s sake.  “And let me look at your arm!”

“Valar, Estel - you sound just like Father,” Elladan said in astonishment.

Elrohir gave a tired grin.  “And he is right, El.  Sit down, and stop arguing!  I told you that arm needed stitches.”

“But there may still be orcs …”

“Then we keep watch, as we always do.  But listen,” Elrohir urged.

Estel listened, but could hear nothing except the sighing of the wind, the trickling murmur of the stream that fed the lake and the clear trill of a blackbird.

“The birds have returned,” Elladan observed.

It was true, Estel realised.  The oppressive silence and sense of dread that had hung so heavily over the dale when they had come to Moria had lifted, and a feeling of peace had returned.  “Does it mean the dragon is gone?” he asked hopefully.

“Gone, dead or fled,” Farin replied.  “Down to the depths of Moria or into the tunnels and caves far to the north.”

Elladan nodded.  “It seems to have gone for now,” he agreed cautiously.  “I can no longer sense its evil.”  He hesitated, and Estel hid a smile. 

Elrohir settled the argument by dropping to the ground with a weary sigh, stretching his leg carefully.  “While Elladan is still making his mind up, you go and snare some rabbits, Estel.  Enough for all of us – and I will roast them.”

Elladan glared at them both, then dropped his pack on the grass.  “I can see I am outnumbered,” he grumbled.  “Very well – perhaps we can halt overnight.  But then we must return to Lórien without delay to take word to my grandparents about the dragon, the orcs, and everything we found there.  And we must warn them to send messages to Mirkwood as well – if the dragon has fled from here, it may well reappear elsewhere.”  He turned to Farin and Bilbur.  “Will you come with us?  You will find rest and ease there.”

Farin shook his head.  “No.  The offer’s kindly meant, and I thank you – but I doubt we’d find much welcome.  Besides, Bilbur and I must return home.  We have a duty to Náin’s family to tell them of his loss.  I must report our findings to Balin, too.”

Estel looked around the dale.  Smooth green grass sloped down to the pool, and a broken pillar stood beside the water.  “What is this place?”

Farin walked forward to stand by the pillar and stared into the dark water.  “This is Kheled-Zâram – or the Mirrormere in your tongue.”  He shot a glance at Elladan and Elrohir.  “Of course, the elves probably have yet another name for it.  But it is an ancient and sacred place for the Dwarves.”

With an inward sigh, Estel abandoned all thoughts of swimming in the lake to wash off the filth and dirt that covered him.  He would not dream of defiling a holy site, and had no wish to offend Farin or Bilbur either – and in any case the water, ice melt from the mountains, would probably be too cold anyway.  “Can we take water from the pool to drink?” he asked carefully.

Farin gave a bark of laughter.  “Aye, Durin would not mind that!”  He looked at the lake again, and then turned away.  “I’ll make a fire, and Bilbur can catch some rabbits.  Bilbur!” he called to his sister.  “Supper!”

She nodded and disappeared into the bushes.

“And you,” Farin added to Estel, “see to your brother.”

While Farin and Elrohir gathered fallen branches and twigs, and dry undergrowth from beneath the bushes, Estel rooted through their remaining kit for additional bandages, needles and suturing thread.  As the fire blazed brightly he set a pot of water on it to heat and carefully unwrapped the bandages on Elladan’s arm.  The deep cut still bled freely but it was clean.

“At least the skin isn’t jagged or torn,” Estel noted.  “It will heal quickly without much of a scar.”  While the water boiled he cleaned the gash again and smeared it with a pale ointment to numb sensation.  Just before he placed the first stitch he paused and glanced at Elladan.  “Are you sure you don’t want Elrohir to do this?”

Elladan pointed to where Elrohir sat by the fire, his injured leg outstretched, helping Bilbur to gut the rabbits she had caught.  “He is busy.  And besides, you are quite capable, little brother.”

Estel felt a warm glow of pride at Elladan’s words of praise.  “Nearly as good as I am,” Elladan concluded.

“You could always do it yourself!” Estel snapped.  He resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to jab the suturing needle into Elladan’s arm, hard.  It would be unprofessional, he told himself firmly.  And childish.  And … He suddenly realised that it did not matter.  It was wonderful just to have Elladan’s teasing once more – for a long, terrible moment he had feared he would never hear his brother’s voice again.  In silence he began to work, trying not to think.

Elladan broke into his thoughts.  “Estel?  You are very quiet.”

Estel kept his eyes fixed on the neatly stitched cut.  “I hated that place.  I will never forget it – I thought you were dead, Elladan!  And Elrohir – I thought – I thought …”  He stopped, not wanting to admit his fears.

Elrohir looked up at the sound of his name.  “I know what you thought, little brother,” he said gently.  “I am not quite sure what I would have done if Elladan had been killed – but I do not think I would have leapt into the void after him.  And I would not abandon you, Estel.”

“You knew, though – that Elladan was still alive.”

Elrohir shook his head, an emptiness in his eyes as he remembered.  “Not at first.  When I saw him fall …” A shudder passed through him.  “But then I realised that somehow he was still alive.  I was just not quite sure how long he would manage to stay that way.”  He looked at Estel a little sheepishly.  “I am sorry if I hurt you, Estel.”

Estel shrugged.  “You didn’t.  And anyway, I understand.  And neither one of us was thinking very clearly.”  He finished stitching Elladan’s arm, cleaned it again, and reached for a roll of bandages.

Elladan inspected it critically.  “Very good,” he said in approval, flexing his hand carefully.  “Very neat – well done, Estel.” 

“You were lucky.”

Elladan nodded sombrely.  “I know.  Luckier than poor Náin.  I wish …”  He fell silent.

“Elladan, there was nothing you could do,” Estel protested as he rebandaged Elladan’s arm.  “You tried – but everything must have happened so quickly.  You should not blame yourself.”

Elladan nodded.  “I know that, and I have seen more than enough comrades die to know when to place blame – but it does not stop me from regretting his death.”  He climbed stiffly to his feet.  “Elrohir!  Are those rabbits ready yet?”

They ate in near silence, pooling what provisions they had – herbs, a little salt, cheese and waybread, with water from the lake to drink, clean-tasting and icy cold.  There were a few wrinkled apples to follow – rather soft, but better than nothing.  As he tossed his apple core into the fire, Farin suddenly chuckled.  “Do you remember,” he said to Bilbur, “how Náin would eat the whole thing – core, pips and all?”

She nodded.  “I used to tell him that one day he’d find an apple tree growing in that bush of a beard of his!”

“I was told that apple pips were poisonous,”  Estel commented.

Elladan raised his eyebrow.  “Whatever gave you that idea?”

Estel pointed an accusing finger.  “Elrohir.”  He gave his brother a sidelong look.

“I did?  When?”

“When I was little, when I swallowed a pip one day.  I was terrified I’d die!”

Bilbur nodded in commiseration.  “Older brothers can be a terrible trial,” she agreed.

Elrohir chuckled.  “Oh, I agree,” he said with a nod in Elladan’s direction.

They fell silent again, but the silence was no longer tense and solemn but more companionable.  Estel looked up at the pillar that loomed above them.  “Farin?  What is Kheled-Zâram?  Why is it sacred?”

Farin got to his feet.  “Come and look into the water, and you will see,” he invited. 

Estel followed him to the edge of the pool and gazed down.  The still surface was smooth and glassy.  The peaks of the towering mountains were reflected against the evening sky. “I can see why it is called Mirrormere,” he said.  “I can see the mountains, and – oh!”  He turned to Farin.  “I cannot see our reflections.”

Farin merely nodded.  “What else can you see?”

Puzzled, Estel looked into the water again.  “Stars?”  He looked up into the clear grey twilight.  Dusk was falling, but there were no stars yet visible.

“That is Durin’s Crown,” Farin explained.  In a low voice he began to chant.  “The world was young, the mountains green …”

Estel listened to the tale of Durin, and of the splendour and majesty that had been Khazad-dûm long ago.  “The darkness dwells in Durin’s halls,” he repeated softly as Farin ended his song.  “It does now.  But what a glorious place Moria must have been then.  I do hope that Balin will be able to return here and make Moria great again.”  He glanced at the dwarf.  “If he does, will you and Bilbur come with him?”

Farin shrugged.  “That depends.  We have our own home in Erebor.  My father and I make armour, and Bilbur is a stonemason.  We have more than enough work there – but we both wished to see the glory that was Moria at least once.”  He stared at the water again, then looked up the valley towards the mountains and the Dimrill Gate, now hidden from view.  “I think perhaps that Náin’s brother will be one who comes here – but first, we must return home and break the news to him.”

Darkness was falling rapidly now, so they settled for the night by the side of the mere.  Elladan, with only a token protest, agreed to let Estel take the first watch, followed by Farin or Bilbur.  “But remember,” Elladan mumbled as he lay down, “wake me when you need to.”

o-o-o

Farin woke them all as dawn broke.  The dale was flooded with early sunlight, reflecting off the mirrored surface of the pool in a dazzling glare that made Estel narrow his eyes.  The broken pillar cast a long, sharp black shadow over the water.  Estel crossed to it, running his fingers over the rough surface.  The stone was worn and weathered with age, encrusted with lichen and moss; but he could feel the faint outlines of unfamiliar letters.

Elrohir joined him, tracing the unseen writing.  “It feels like Dwarf runes,” he said.  “But then, it would be.  I wonder …” Taking his knife, he scraped very carefully at the surface, scratching off the dry, papery growth.  Brushing away the dust and debris, he felt the inscription on the pillar again and squinted at it.  “Yes – it is the Angerthas, the writing the Dwarves use.”

“Do you think Farin or Bilbur would translate it?”

Elrohir smiled.  “No need.  It says …” he paused, concentrating.  “Durin the Deathless, oldest and fatherless.  Here …” Elrohir hesitated for a moment, and then continued.  “Here lies his … crown for all time.” He shrugged.  “There is more, but it is too worn.  I cannot make it out.”

“Show-off,” Elladan commented as he stooped to fill their water bottles from the pool.

Estel stared at Elrohir in amazement.  “Where did you learn Dwarf runes?” he demanded.

“You know the Angerthas?” Bilbur added.

“Yes.  Ori taught me, when he and Thorin and your father came to Imladris.  He wanted to learn the Elvish script, and taught me the runes in return,” Elrohir explained.

Farin nodded.  “Ori is one of those who will come with Balin, and Óin.  They will lead the others here.”

“You seem very sure that they will still come here, despite the dragon and the orcs,” Elladan commented.

Farin nodded again. “I know Balin.  He will not let a little thing like a dragon stop him!”  He shouldered his pack.  “But he will still want to hear what we found here. Let us be on our way!”

They left Mirrormere behind them and continued down the dale to the point where the track divided, one path leading north to the vales of the Anduin and the Gladden Fields, while the other followed the river Celebrant south-east towards Lórien.   Farin and Bilbur were some hundred yards ahead and paused as they reached the parting of the ways, waiting for Elladan, Elrohir and Estel to catch up.

Suddenly an elf clad in grey slid like a shadow from the stunted trees, his bow drawn.  An arrow hovered mere inches from Farin’s chest.  “Halt, Naugrim filth!” he hissed.

To Be Continued

Author Notes:  Many, many thanks to Aglarian for betaing this (despite me sending her the wrong version of the chapter …)

Author Notes 2: Farin’s song is, of course, the one Gimli sings to the Fellowship in the mines of Moria.

Chapter Fourteen – A Parting of the Ways

As they walked down the track, the golden canopy of Lothlórien grew nearer.  Lórien – with its sheltering trees, its deep sense of peace, and its warm, spring-fed pools.  Estel found himself daydreaming about bathing in those pools and washing away the blood and grime that still clung to him.  His scalp itched, and he longed just to be clean again.

Despite this, he was sorry to see the point where the track divided just ahead – he would be sad to say farewell to Farin and Bilbur and would miss them both.  Despite the initial reserve they had all felt towards each other he had come to like the two dwarves, and the fond exasperation with which Farin and Bilbur regarded one another was very, very familiar.

A small copse of gnarled, stunted trees marked the split in the path, and as Farin and Bilbur halted there, an elf stepped from the trees.  Estel raised a hand in greeting, then paused as he saw the drawn weapon.  At his side, Elrohir spat a sharp curse.

“Rúmon!  Stop!” Elladan shouted.   

Estel and his brothers broke into a run.  “He won’t kill them, will he?” Estel gasped.

“No – but Farin or Bilbur may well kill him, the idiot!”  Elrohir retorted.

“And if they do not, then I probably will,” Elladan added as they reached the guard.

Rúmon glanced up at them once, then returned his scowl to the dwarves.  “What are these – your prisoners?”  he demanded of Elladan and Elrohir.  “You would do well to keep a closer guard on them!  They are still armed, ” he added in disbelief, making a grab for Bilbur’s axe.

“They are not prisoners!” Elladan snapped.  He placed a restraining hand on Bilbur’s shoulder.  “Wait,” he warned.  “Please.” She growled something but lowered her axe.

Elrohir had placed himself between Rúmon and Farin and pushed Rúmon’s arrow aside before moving away.  “Stop this madness, Rúmon!  Farin and Bilbur are our friends and companions.  They were our guides in Moria and do not deserve your threats and insults. They have done nothing to incur this welcome!”

“They are Naugrim!”  Rúmon snarled.  “They are not welcome in Lórien!  If they enter it will be under armed guard, and they must be blindfolded.”

Shocked, Estel listened to the harsh exchange of words, dismayed by the turn of events and the guard’s animosity.  Rúmon’s arrogance and blind prejudice horrified him, but it would have confirmed all of Náin’s mistrust and hatred of elves.  He watched speechlessly, knowing there was little he could do to help the situation and wondering if his brothers could ever salvage the dwarves’ friendship and trust.

Farin stiffened, and Bilbur growled again under her breath.  Elladan tightened his grip on her shoulder.  “My friends,” he emphasised, “have no wish to enter Lórien.  But if they did, it would be as our honoured guests.”

“Such creatures are not welcome here!”

Elladan’s expression and stance shifted subtly.  Estel blinked as his brother seemed to change before his eyes.  He was not sure how Elladan did it in his stained and travel-worn clothing, but suddenly his teasing, bossy, annoying older brother vanished and an Elven lord of power and majesty stood in his place. 

“Not welcome?”  Elladan echoed.  “I am sorry to hear that.  Would these be the Lord Celeborn’s orders?  Or Lady Galadriel’s?”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Rúmon’s face but he stood his ground. “Of course they are!” he blustered.

Farin growled something, and Elladan touched his arm lightly, shaking his head.  “Wait,”  he murmured.  “I think not,” he said to Rúmon.  “You know who I am – and I know my grandparents would never have given such orders.  They did no such thing, did they?”

“Your grandparents?” Rúmon swallowed.  “Well, no, not exactly – but they would have done, had they known you would bring such scum to Lórien!”

Estel was suddenly reminded of one of the many maxims that Erestor was fond of quoting.  ‘When you are in a hole, stop digging’, his erstwhile tutor had often advised him – usually when Estel was attempting in vain to explain or excuse some misdemeanour.   It would be good advice for Rúmon to heed now – the hapless elf was outnumbered and hopelessly outmatched, but lacked the wit to realise it.

Bilbur spat an unintelligible curse him.  It sounded vicious and heartfelt, and Estel wondered what she had said.  Elrohir evidently understood, for he hid a smile and clasped her shoulder.  “Not even orcs can do that,”  he murmured.

“Ha!”  Bilbur had evidently had enough.  She shook off Elrohir’s hand and moved close to the guard, glaring up at him.  Rúmon stepped back a pace. “Is this the famed wisdom and hospitality of the elves?” she demanded, prodding him in the chest with a stubby forefinger.  “Your father should have taught you better manners, and your mother should have taught you more sense!  No guest would be welcomed to the halls of my fathers like this!”

Rúmon took a further step backwards as Bilbur placed a hand on her axe until he found himself against a tree.  Trapped, he looked up at Elladan and Elrohir in a wordless appeal for support.  They stood unmoving at Bilbur’s side, making no further attempt to restrain her.  The guard’s indignant expression slowly changed as he realised he was outnumbered five to one – and that two of those five were the grandsons of his Lord and Lady.  He tried to take another step back into the tree away from Bilbur, and finally lowered his eyes to escape from her fierce gaze.

“Your pardon, Master dwarf,”  he said with difficulty.  “I apologise.  I – did not realise you were – under the protection of Lord Elladan.”

Bilbur growled again, and Elrohir moved closer to her side.  “Master Bilbur,” he said with the ghost of a wink at Estel, “has no need of our protection.  But in future I expect friends of Lórien to be greeted with honour.  Do you understand?”

The elf gave a curt nod.  “I do.  My lord,” he added.

“Good.  I know that you have orders to guard and protect the borders of Lórien.  Caution is one thing – but such stubborn, suicidal stupidity is unforgivable!  Greet the orcs who are the enemies of us all with sword and arrow, but not these dwarves whom I name elf-friends.”  Elrohir paused, waiting for his words to sink in.  “Now, who is your captain?  Haldir?  Tell him that we have returned from Moria, and that we have news which Celeborn must hear.”

Rúmon nodded curtly to Elrohir, cast another dark look at Farin and Bilbur, and then turned on his heel and fled.

Elladan watched him go.  He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, then turned back to Farin and Bilbur.  “You have my deepest apologies for that,” he said quietly.

Farin glared at the guard’s rapidly retreating back and muttered something into his beard.  Then, to Estel’s amazement, the dwarf chuckled.  “That one would have had much in common with Náin!” he said, echoing Estel’s own thoughts.  “Perhaps it’s as well they never met.”

Elrohir smiled, relishing the idea.  “Valar, can you imagine it?” he asked Elladan.

Estel winced.  “They’d have killed each other.”

“Probably,” Elladan agreed.  “Between them they could have destroyed centuries of tentative peace and reignited the old wars.”

“Then I hope someone keeps him well away from Balin’s colony,” Estel muttered.

Bilbur snorted.  “Oh, I don’t know – perhaps we should let him learn.  If even Náin found it in himself to admit he could be wrong, this Rúmon should have the same opportunity.”  She laughed.  “Perhaps he could be appointed as an envoy or liaison between Moria and Lothlórien.

Estel blinked.  Bilbur’s beard and deep-set eyes concealed a sharp, cunning mind – and her suggestion had a lot of merit.

Farin began to chuckle.  “Devious, my sister – very devious!  I like it.”

Elladan smiled.  “Perhaps.  Regretfully, that decision is not mine – it will lie with my grandparents.  However, I am sure they will listen to suggestions.  But now …” He sighed.  “It is time to say farewell.  You have our thanks for your help and advice – you will both always have a warm welcome in Imladris.”

“And you likewise.”  Farin bowed, then took Elladan’s hand in his.  “If you ever come to Erebor, say the name Farin son of Dwalin, and you will be welcomed.”

Elladan nodded.  “I will, my friend.”

“Or the name of Bilbur, daughter of Bila!” Bilbur added with a scowl at her brother.

“I will remember both your names,” Elladan vowed with a smile.

Farin shook Elrohir’s hand in his meaty fist, then turned to Estel. 

With a heavy heart Estel gave his hand to the dwarf.  “Goodbye.”  He tried not to wince at the crushing grip, massaging his numb fingers once he was released.  Bilbur grinned at him.  Her own handshake was firm, but at least he could still feel his fingers.

With final farewells they parted and Farin and Bilbur trudged slowly along the northward trail. 

“Farewell!”

“Goodbye.”

“Namárië!”

As the path rounded a spur of the mountain the dwarves looked back a final time.  Bilbur waved and then vanished from sight.

Elladan gazed after them.  “Strange,”  he mused.  “Somehow she reminds me of – ”  he glanced at Estel and stopped.  “You are very quiet.  So, what do you think of female dwarves now that you have finally met one?”

Drawn out of his swirling thoughts, Estel looked up.  “She had a beard,” he said blankly.

Elrohir chuckled, and Estel found himself smiling in response.  “She did indeed, little brother!  Now will you believe us?”

“Occasionally. Very, very occasionally.”

Elladan laughed, clapped him on the back, and then bent to pick up his pack.  “Come.  We must go now – we still have to reach Lothlórien.”  He pointed to a pair of tiny distant figures, just visible beneath the trees.  “Look – there are Haldir and Orophin.  They are waiting for us.  We must reach Celeborn and Galadriel without further delay.” 

Elrohir nodded in agreement.  He stretched and rubbed at his grimy, bruised face.  “And when we have done that,” he sighed, “I am going to bathe in the pools and then sleep for a week.  Hurry up, Estel!”

Estel smiled as he followed his brothers down the track towards the eaves of the golden wood.

o-o-o

Imladris, Four Weeks Later …

Dusk was falling as Estel and his brothers rode along the final stretch of woodland path.  As their horses splashed across the stream Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a single glance and broke into a gallop, flying down the track and crouched low over their horses’ necks to avoid low growing branches.

Estel followed more slowly, leaving the mad chase to his brothers in their usual race to be the first to reach the courtyard.  As he rode beneath the archway they had dismounted and were exchanging greetings with Glorfindel.

“Who won?” he asked, more out of habit than real curiosity.

“I did!”  “He did,” they replied in unison.

“Which means that El – ” Elrohir broke off and looked up.  “Father!”

Elrond appeared in the doorway.  He hurried down the steps and managed to embrace all three at once.  “Welcome home, my sons!  I received your messages and news from Lórien, but I am glad to see you with my own eyes at last.”  He hugged them again and then held Estel at arm’s length, studying him closely.  “You have grown,” he observed.  “And you look different.”

Elladan nodded, clasping Estel’s shoulder.  “Our little brother has grown up,” he agreed.  “And he has done well on this journey.”

“Very well,” Elrohir added.

Estel glanced at his brothers in pleased surprise, half expecting one of them to add a disparaging comment, but they were both smiling at him proudly.

“Your mother will hardly recognise you!” Elrond continued.  “She will be sorry to have missed your arrival, Estel – she left a few days ago to see the weavers in Barlynch.  They have developed some new dyes and she wanted to see the colours for herself.”

Estel felt oddly disappointed.  “When is she due back?”

“Tomorrow, I hope.  I know she will be delighted to see you.  We read the report Elladan sent from Lórien, but I think there was much that was left unsaid. Bathe and change, and then join me for supper.  I want to hear everything.”

Glorfindel joined them for supper, and he and Elrond listened in silence as the twins and Estel told their tale.  The story switched from one to the other as they related everything that had happened, from the first vague feelings of disquiet to the drowning of the dragon and their eventual escape from Moria.

“A dragon?” Glorfindel asked at last.  “Are you sure?”

Elladan shrugged.  “It must have been.  We never saw it, but the heat – the gouts of flame – the sense of evil – it must have been a dragon.  It was certainly not orcs or trolls.”

Elrond nodded.  “The flood may well have drowned it – but if not, it will reappear again.  This year, next year; a hundred years from now.  Dragons have long lives, and long memories.  It will take time to rekindle its flame but it will return.”

“I will alert the patrols,” Glorfindel agreed.  “And Thranduil should be warned as well.  If it flees north it could be tempted to reclaim Smaug’s territory.”

Elladan gave a cold smile.  “Do not worry about Thranduil.  A warning has already been sent.  Haldir found a messenger who was only too pleased to leave immediately.”

“Good.  So, the dragon has been dealt with for now, and Celeborn and Thranduil duly warned to be on their guard.”  Elrond leaned back in his chair.  “And as for the rest of your news – Elrohir, I can scarcely believe that you were able to heal yourself.  No healer I have ever heard of has been able to do so.  It is a very remarkable achievement.”

Elrohir shrugged.  “I had very little choice.  I was desperate enough to try anything.  But it was not me, it was Elladan.  I used our bond to draw on his strength – without him I could never have done it.  And without Estel I would not have lasted until Elladan reached us.”  He stretched out a hand and ruffled Estel’s hair.  “You showed great courage, little brother.”

“Courage?”  Estel gaped at him.  “Elrohir, I was petrified!”

“You pulled me out from beneath that rock fall and tended to my wounds until Elladan arrived.”  Elrohir grinned.  “And you drew a sword on him and stood between us to protect me in case he was an orc!”

Estel gave a reluctant smile, but shook his head.  “I wasn’t brave,” he insisted.  “I hated that place!  And that water trap …” he swallowed.  “I have never been so frightened in all my life.  I thought I would die there, alone in the darkness.”

“And yet you went back in to help me rescue Bilbur,” Elladan said very quietly.  “That is courage, Estel.”

Estel opened his mouth to protest again, but yawned instead.  Elrohir laughed at him.  “However brave he may be, our little brother still needs his sleep!” he teased. 

Estel would have argued, but he found himself yawning again and knew it was time to concede defeat.  He nodded.  “You are right,” he admitted.  It is late, and I am tired.  Goodnight, then.” He stood and kissed Elrond.  “Goodnight, father – I am glad to be home again.”

“And I am glad to have you all here as well.  Goodnight, Estel.”

o-o-o

As the door closed behind Estel Elrond gazed after him.  “He has grown.  Not just in height, but grown up.”

Elladan nodded.  “Yes.  We would not have escaped without him.  He proved himself in so many ways – his courage, his tenacity, his quick-thinking.  He is resourceful too, and is gaining the initiative and confidence to make his own decisions without waiting for our instructions.  I am proud to call him brother – he proved himself a true son of Elrond.”

“He proved himself a true son of Arathorn, as well,” Elrohir agreed.  “His father would be proud to see what he has become.  Estel has come early to manhood, but I think he will be one of the greatest chieftains of the Dúnedain.”  He paused and looked at Elrond.  “The time has come to tell him who he is.”

Elrond nodded slowly.  “Yes.  Tomorrow I will give him his true name.  He has earned it.”

“Aragorn son of Arathorn,” Glorfindel murmured.  “And Estel no longer.”

Elrond shook his head, smiling.  “No.  He will always be Estel – and he will always be the hope of his people.”

Elrohir raised his glass.  “So, then.  To Estel!”

To be concluded

Author’s Notes:  Once again, many thanks to Aglarien for betaing this for me and suggesting a name for the chapter.

Epilogue – A Son Of Two Fathers

Elrohir took a sip of wine and stretched before the fire.  It felt good to be home, but there had been little time to relax since their return and the day had been a momentous one – especially for Estel.

Estel – no, Aragorn – dropped into another chair, draining his own wine in a single gulp.  He still looked stunned.   “Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” he repeated to himself softly, savouring it.  He shook his head and regarded Elladan and Elrohir with incredulity.  “I still cannot believe it.”

“But you will always be Estel,” Elrohir reassured him.  “Still our brother.”

Elladan nodded.  “Aye.  Aragorn, son of Arathorn – and Estel, son of Elrond.”  He smiled.  “There are few who can claim two names.  You have earned them both, and I know you will live up to them.”

Aragorn looked down, twisting the ring that newly adorned his finger.  “I wish I could have known him – my other father, I mean.  Arathorn.”

“I wish you could have known him too – and I wish he could see you now,” Elrohir said softly.  “He would have been so proud of you, and everything you did in Moria.”

“What – even getting lost and going off after those orcs?”

Elladan grinned.  “He could be impetuous too.  And it worked out for the best – you prevented them raising the alarm.”

Elrohir raised his goblet in salute to Est – Aragorn.  “And for digging me out of that rock fall in Moria.  You have my thanks, little brother.”

Elladan nodded sombrely.  “You saved his life – and for that you have my thanks!”

Estel grinned.  “What was I to do – leave you for the orcs?”

Elrohir frowned suddenly.  “Yes, the orcs.  I have strange half-memories of them there.  I thought it must be a nightmare, but it seems too real for that – a nightmare would have faded by now, but this is still vivid.” 

He missed the look that Elladan and Aragorn exchanged.  “What do you remember?”  Aragorn asked.

Elrohir frowned again as he tried to recall events.  “I think – I woke up, I think, while I was still trapped under the rocks.  I can remember pain and dizziness and confusion.  I am not sure – nothing was clear.  I may have imagined it, but it seemed very real.  Orcs were coming.  I could hear their feet tramping, their harsh voices coming nearer and nearer.”  His voice dropped.  “I could smell them.  You were there, Estel, and I tried to warn you.  And then –”  Elrohir broke off, and shook his head.  “No, that part must have been a dream, or rather a nightmare.”

He paused.  “There were orcs,” he continued in a whisper.  “I could feel their hands on me, holding me down.  They were smothering and choking me.”  He shuddered at the memory, and hesitated before continuing.   “There was a sickly stench and the foul taste of their hands over my mouth … and I have never felt such terror or utter helplessness.  I knew I was a prisoner in their hands.”  He fell silent, remembering again the horror of the moment. 

“I think I lost consciousness.  When I came to my senses they were gone.  You were there, Estel, and I was safe.”  He sighed, shaking his head.  “It makes no sense.  If orcs had seized me like that, I would not be here now.   And yet I cannot forget it.  I have woken at night two or three times since then in a blind panic, remembering.”  He shrugged.  “It is nonsense, I know.  Yet it felt so real.”

Aragorn was staring at him with a stricken expression.  “Elrohir, I’m sorry!”  he exclaimed. 

“Sorry?  Why?  You are not to blame for my nightmares, little brother.  You dug me out.”

“No, but … ”  Aragorn swallowed. “It was me,” he whispered.  “It was me.  You were right – there were orcs coming.  You were moaning, and trying to warn me to run – you wanted me to leave you there and save myself!  They would have heard you, so I did the only thing I could think of.  I had some of that paste we use to calm nervous horses, so I put a little in my hand and held it to your mouth and nose so you had to breathe it in.  It was the only way I could think of to keep you quiet!”

Elrohir stared at him, lost for words.  He did not know whether to be relieved at his narrow escape, indignant at his undignified treatment at Est – Aragorn’s – hands, or proud of his brother’s courage, resourcefulness and swift action.  Regrettably, indignation won.  “Horse tranquiliser?”  he asked at last.  “You drugged me with horse tranquiliser?”

“Be fair, little brother – he had no choice!”  Elladan pointed out.

Elrohir transferred his glare to his twin.  “You knew about this?”  he demanded.

“Estel told me later.  It was unorthodox, but it worked.  And if the orcs had found you …”  Elladan’s voice trailed off.  “Well, thanks to Estel they did not.”  He gave a sudden grin, breaking the tension.  “I always said you smell like an orc at times, Estel – now I am proved right!”

“Elrohir, I am so sorry,” Aragorn said again, ignoring Elladan.  “I had no idea you remembered any of it.  No wonder it gave you nightmares!  And then, when the orc stepped on you …”

“What?”  Elrohir and Elladan demanded together.

Aragorn stared at his brothers, his eyes widening.  “Oh – I never told you about that part, did I?”

“I do not think I want to know,” Elrohir said flatly with a faint shudder.  “Thank you – I think.”  He shook his head, but then leaned forward to ruffle Aragorn’s hair.  “You have done great deeds, little brother.  Perhaps one day you will be as famous as Beren!”

Elladan laughed.  “If he is Beren, then who is Huan?”

“More to the point, who is Lúthien?” Aragorn asked lightly.  He stood and stretched, glancing at the long shadows that lay outside.  “I am going for a walk before supper – it is a beautiful evening.  I will see you later.”

Singing softly to himself, Aragorn stepped out onto the terrace and went down into the gardens.

‘At the hour of sunset Aragorn walked alone in the woods, and his heart was high within him.’  (LOTR, Appendix A, The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen)

The End