21. Detritus

(A/N:  My beta, Nieriel Raina, is not happy with me … not at all.  But thank her for her editorial skills anyway!

Le Rouret)

The snake’s coils were soft and sinuous, sliding smoothly over his skin.  Its cool flesh felt comforting against him, for he was hot, too hot; he burned with fever; his very blood boiled.  But the snake’s long twisting body soothed him, its black eyes wry and its mouth in a fixed smile.  He sighed and stretched, dropping the heavy shears into a pile of brow wool, and the long muscular serpentine body draped itself over him, gliding up his torso, the tongue flickering in and out, in and out.

 “Ssssssoft …. ” the serpent hissed, and a shiver of fear shook his belly.  He tried to lift his arms, but the snake’s heavy coils held them down, compressed them against the earth which bubbled and popped on his back, his shoulders and head.  He could feel the slime on the backs of his legs as he struggled.  The serpent laughed quietly.

“No need to crawl now,” it whispered, and tightened its grip.  He couldn’t move; his chest was tight; he couldn’t breathe.  “Yesssss,” it hissed, and the blunt-nosed head raised itself over his chest, looking down into his eyes.  The smiling mouth flicked its tongue out again, then rested itself against his lips.  He pressed them together desperately, trying to keep it out, but the snake was too strong for him; he opened his mouth to gasp for breath, and the serpent thrust its head in and slithered down his throat.

Legolas awoke vomiting.  He choked and wheezed on his blood and bile, retching miserably.  He felt a strong arm lift him until he sat up, and could spit it out on his lap; he sat trembling and disoriented, and let Gimli mop him up.

“Again?”  That was Bandobras’ voice, worried and thready.  “Oh, I don’t like that, I don’t.  More blood.”

“Well, it is not as though he has eaten anything.”  Gimli’s voice, soothing and deep at his ear.  Legolas sighed and leant against his friend; he felt very weak.  “This cannot go on.  He will waste away if this keeps up.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” asked Bandobras irritably.  “Make him a nice rabbit stew?  We ain’t seen no game out this way in days, and we’re out of everything except beans and salt pork, which don’t sit right with him nohow.”

“I am not hungry,” said Legolas.  His voice sounded very thin and trembly and hoarse; his throat hurt.  He tried to pull out of Gimli’s embrace but the Dwarf held him tight.

“Legolas,” said Gimli.  “You need to try to eat something.”

“After this?”  Legolas gestured to the mess in his lap.  “How do you propose I ingest anything now?”

“What about some water, Master?” asked Tamin anxiously.  “At least sip upon some water; water will do you no harm, you know, Master, and will likely do you a great bit of good; for everyone knows that water is good for you, Master.  Though we do not have much left,” added the boy, knotting his brows and looking very grave.  “But I will gladly give up my ration of water for you, Master, for water is so efficacious you know, and I really, truly think it would do you good, I do, Master.  And besides I am not thirsty, not at all.”

“Very well,” Legolas conceded weakly, though his stomach twisted at the thought.  “Water, then, my Tamin.”

He took the skin from his esquire with shaking hands and drank slowly, in small sips.  The first time he swallowed he felt as though everything in his gorge would rise up again, but after a moment his stomach stilled, and he managed to drink a little more.  The tremors in his hands ceased and he sat up.  Gimli released him and sat glowering at him, his dark eyes glittering dangerously.

“I am two steps away from abandoning this fool’s errand, and heading north to Erebor,” he growled.  When Legolas’ brows lowered in protest he said, “O I know, I know; you wish to find out what happened to Dúrfinwen and Belegtilion and the rest of them … but we have been following these strange tracks for days with naught to show for it but footsore horses and your continued illness.”

“I am not ill,” said Legolas irritably.  “I am … merely discommoded.”

Bandobras snorted.  “’Discommoded,’ I like that, my lord, I do indeed.  So there you sit puking on yourself, hardly able to drink down water, and all that’s wrong is you’re discommoded?  Very nice; don’t see why there’s anything to worry about, then.”

“If I dreamt not then I would not be sick,” said Legolas, giving Tamin the water skin.  “And if you did not force me to sleep then I would not dream.  So it is your fault, my Bandobras, teasing me to sleep.”  He gave the Hobbit an arch look, which Bandobras did not seem to like; he made a face at the Green Knight, and got up, dusting off his knees.

“Have it your way then,” he grunted.  “There’s enough meal for porridge, if you think you’ll eat it.”

“O I will eat it, Bandobras,” said Tamin earnestly.  “I like your porridge.  Well, I like your eggs and rashers better – and your quickbread  – and mushroom pasties – but porridge is very nice, too, especially your porridge.”

“Nicely said, Little One!” said Legolas.  “There is little better to raise my Bandobras’ mood than to praise his cookery.”  He looked down at himself and made a face.  “I think I will change my tunic.  I wish there were clean water in which to wash.”

“As do I,” said Gimli.  He got up and stumped over to the edge of the ridge where they had set up camp.  Putting his hands on his hips he looked out east over the sere and blasted land.  It was drizzling, but the water running down the bare grey earth was dirty and slimy, and the water accruing in puddles looked greasy, with scums of oil on the surface.  The only stream beds they had found contained but oily, gooey muck, stinking and cold; the horses and ponies picked their way fastidiously over them, and Isilmë wrinkled his nose disapprovingly.  The rude shelter Gimli had constructed to ward them against the elements leaked, the tarp slipping on the poles, and they had spent a damp and miserable night without much of a fire at all to warm them; then he had woken to hear Legolas choking and thrashing about again, and the tell-tale, guttural retching he knew would presage another bout of sickness.

The wilderness was bare, slick, rocky, muddy, and lifeless.  The only tracks they had found leading there had been men’s booted feet, and the faintest trail suggesting Elves had gone as well; there was also, as had been in the village outside Esgaroth, the strange marks as though a large barrel had been dragged round.  Gimli thought about his favorite faery-tale as a youngster, in which the villain had met his end through being shut in a barrel filled with nails and dragged to death, and shuddered.  Neither Legolas nor Tamin had been able to descry any life in this horrid place; it was like the Brown Lands – worse, even; the Brown Lands had been desolate and empty, but the uneven rocky territory east of Esgaroth brooded with a lifeless, putrid evil.  Betimes Gimli felt that even the rocks watched them, menacing and low; he could not shake the underlying sense of moving closer and closer to some malevolent source.  “If at the end of this we find Malbeach or Renna,” he thought blackly, “I will behead them myself!”  He turned back to his friends and wiped the drizzle from his face.  Bandobras was kneeling over a steaming pot, frowning into its depths and stirring the contents carefully with a small wooden paddle; Tamin was helping his Master change out of his soiled clothes, his small pale face anxious and fearful.  And Legolas – well, Legolas looked shockingly thin, worn like a sea-shell battered by the inexorable tides, gaunt and hollow-eyed and with all the color leached from him; but he smiled yet, coaxing a giggle out of his little esquire, and making Bandobras laugh at some outrageous comment.  Gimli shook his head.

“The poor frivolous fool,” he thought affectionately.  “Well, if I have to be mired in a hopeless and horrible place, there are worse folk to be around, I suppose.”  He sighed and looked to the east.  The ground was rough and uneven and hilly; dead stumps of trees dotted the landscape, and the low weeping sky obscured the highest points in grey mist.  It was a convoluted and difficult terrain; even from their vantage point on the ridge it was nearly impossible to see who or what might be lurking in the folds and corners.  But Legolas insisted they at least follow what marks they could find; he was determined to find out his peoples’ fate.  “Besides which,” Gimli thought, “there are those dreams, telling him to push east.  East!  It looks darker and bleaker the further we go.”

They ate Bandobras’ porridge and broke camp.  Isilmë seemed eager to press on; he pranced a bit under Tamin, and snuffed at the air.  Hammer stood drooping disconsolately.  He did not travel well over such rough ground and bore his master’s ill mood poorly.  Spark and Burnt Toast were little better, irritable and quarrelsome; they tried to pick a fight with Hammer, who bit them and took a scraping of skin off Burnt Toast’s neck.  Gimli put a bit of sticking-plaster on it and shook his head disgustedly. 

“Stallions!” he said.  “Give me a good gelding any day.”

“Isilmë is a stallion and he is not causing any delay,” said Tamin, reasonably enough, patting his little white horse proudly on the neck.  “And anyway Burnt Toast should not have harried Hammer so.  Hammer is head of the herd and he should not balk when Hammer leads.”

“It is in a horse’s nature to challenge the leader,” said Legolas.  He looked apologetically at Gimli’s pony.  “That is a deep bite; I am sorry, Gimli.”

“It is not your doing,” grumbled Gimli.  “Stupid steeds.  We might actually make better time on foot, you know, Legolas.”

Legolas sighed.  “That is true,” he admitted.  “But … “  He lowered his voice.  “But I am so weary,” he whispered, his shoulders drooping.  “So, so weary.”

Bandobras and Tamin exchanged worried looks, and Gimli bit his lip.  “Well,” he said with forced cheer, “we ride then, and let the horses grumble instead!”  Legolas smiled weakly at him, and they pushed on in the drizzle.

Ever eastward did the tracks lead them, and ever eastward where they turned their faces did they feel the burgeoning evil.  It was like a wall before them, thick but cloying, beckoning and repulsing all at once.  Even the horses did not like it, and though as the morning passed and progressed into midday it ceased to rain, their mounts walked all the more reluctantly, shying at the clack of pebble on stone, or someone’s sudden cough.  The leaden sky brooded and roiled above them, and the air was heavy and cold.

At last they reached a low chuckling stream that appeared to bear clean water.  They explored the little stony ford, sniffing and sampling, and at last both Legolas and Tamin declared it sound.  “We had best let the horses drink their fill,” said Legolas, “and my Tamin, do you go a ways upstream and fill the skins; perchance there shall be yet cleaner water there, unsullied by the horses’ hooves.  But mind you do not go far!”

“Yes, Master,” said Tamin, and hanging the skins about his neck and shoulders scrambled down into the cleft of the little gorge, and round a boulder.

The water was shallow and the rocks jutted up through it, but the water smelled and tasted good, and it was very quiet round him; Tamin could descry the soft voices of his Master and Gimli and Bandobras, and the slurk and whicker of the horses drinking.  He poked round a bit, following the stream up a ways, until he found a little pool, dark and shining.  “Finally!” he thought, and dropped the skins on the ground with a clatter and a bang.  He unstoppered the first one and sank it into the water to fill it.

He paused, raising his head; the hair on the back of his neck had prickled, and he felt as though he were being watched.  He sampled the air cautiously, sniffing, and smelled only Elf, Dwarf, Hobbit and horse; puzzled, he turned round, but he was quite alone.  He could yet hear Gimli speaking, and one of the horses whinnied.  Shrugging, he finished filling the skin and stoppered it; then he reached for another one.

The rock’s sudden descent startled him; it was a small stone, the size of his fist, clattering down into the little gorge where he squatted, bouncing off rocks and landing in the pool with a splash.  He turned around, squinting up at the darkened ridge twenty feet above him, and his heart turned to lead in his throat.  Someone was standing there, staring down at him.

Tamin leapt to his feet and drew his sword.  The figure did not move, simply stood, shoulders slumped, head hanging; the eyes were wide and wild, and the mouth slack.  Long, filthy hair hung down over the face, which was likewise dirty; the man wore no clothes, and was covered in mud.

“Who are you?” cried Tamin.

The figure stirred and began to stumble down the slope, scattering pebbles and dirt and sending more stones clattering down.  His gait was broken and uneven, and he seemed scarce able to keep his balance on the steep incline; yet he staggered on.  He held out his hands in supplication to Tamin.  “Kill me,” he croaked, his dark eyes rolling and his tongue lolling out.  “Kill me.”

“What?”  Tamin backed up and felt the water in the pool tickling at his ankles.  The man frightened him; he was so ghastly and ungainly, and the voice so hoarse.  He held his sword point-out to the man and said tremulously, “Stop.  Stop, I say!  Come no further.  Identify yourself!”

“Kill me – O have mercy on me; kill me, kill me!”  The voice rose into a guttural screech, and the man slid and lurched down the slope to Tamin.  Then Tamin realized this strange person was no Man … he was an Elf, unknown to him, and mad from some terrible impetus.  One of the outstretched arms had been broken at the elbow, and the hand upon the other arm was fingerless; raw bone protruded from the torn skin.  Then Tamin saw that the toes of both feet had been cut off, and his heart stopped.

“Wait – we can help you – help, help!” cried Tamin, terrified of this mad broken thing; still the strange Elf reeled down the slope to him, closer and closer, chewing on his own tongue, blood dribbling from his mouth.  “Get away, get away!”

He recoiled from the Elf, and the earth gave way beneath his heels; he staggered backward, and landed with a splash in the pool, arms waving.  Just as he’d righted his sword the Elf leapt as best he could toward Tamin, arms flung wide and chin raised; his full weight fell upon the point of Tamin’s long blade, knocking the child onto his back in the water.  Tamin’s head submerged in the icy pool, the breath knocked out of his lungs; his legs were pinned by the strange Elf’s body, and his arms pressed against his torso, still clinging to the sword.  The Elf convulsed above him, and Tamin, feeling as though his chest would burst, wrenched his hands away from the hilt, and scrambled out from beneath the stranger’s weight, coughing.  He bolted for the far end of the pond, panting and anxiously brushing his hair out of his face; he looked down into the pond and saw the Elf, lying face-down, the point of Tamin’s sword protruding from his shoulder blades.  He did not move, but simply lay, pinned like an insect, dark tangled hair floating out over the head, dark blood rippling into the water around him.

There was another clattering of stones then, and Tamin’s Master and Gimli came rushing round the corner of the little gorge.  His Master had drawn his sword, and Gimli wielded his axe.  “What is it?  Why did you call?” asked Legolas, looking round; then he saw the body in the water, and stared.

“Oh, heavens preserve us,” groaned Gimli, shoulders slumping.  “Who was that?”

“I, I do not know, I, he, he came at me from above, and he, he would not stop – “ Tamin stammered; his heart was beating like a hummingbird’s wings and he felt very sick.  “He, he is an Elf, he said, he said to, to kill him – “

“He what?” asked Legolas, staring at the body in the water with horror.  “What happened?”

“He – he came down the slope – I, I told him to stop, he would not, he, he kept coming, Master, and I drew my sword, to protect myself, Master, and he told me to kill him and I told him to stop but he would not stop, Master, he would not and, and then I fell and he fell on me or he jumped on me, I could not tell, Master, it all happened so fast, and I fell in the water and I was underwater and I could not breathe and I tried to get out and I – I – “ Tamin stammered to a halt, staring at the body, shaking from head to foot.  “O please forgive me,” he whispered, though whether he spoke to the Elf or to his Master, even he did not know.

Legolas sheathed his sword and walked over to the body, and Gimli stood with his axe upraised, watching the slopes above them suspiciously.  Legolas checked for the Elf’s pulse in the throat, shook his head, then turned the body over.  Tamin’s sword was buried in the Elf’s chest to the hilt, so great had been the impact between them, and the face, washed in the water of the pond, was still and serene, and very handsome.  Legolas sighed, and gently brushed the hair from the Elf’s forehead, then sat back with his hands on his knees.

“Belias,” he whispered.

“Oh, no,” moaned Tamin, covering his face.  “I have killed one of mine own – I am a kinslayer – a kinslayer!”

“Hush, dear heart,” said Legolas tenderly, rising and going to Tamin; he tried to take the boy in his arms, but Tamin twitched away, sobbing.  “You did not mean to kill him, now, did you, my Tamin?”

“I did not – but he – he would not stop – and he – he kept coming – and he – he kept telling me to kill him – “  Tamin’s breath was rapid and shallow, and he hid his face from his Master.  “He was – so wild – and I – I did not know what to do – I called for help – I wanted to help him but – he frightened me – and he would not stop –  I am a kinslayer – I am disgraced – my, my family – all Dol Galenehtar – Ithilien – Gondor!  I shall be driven forth – because I am a kinslayer - O what shall I do - “

“Tamin Rúmilion!”  Legolas’ voice was like the crack of a whip.  “Turn to me; face me.  Now!”

Gulping in surprise and fear, Tamin turned and pulled his hands from his face, looking up at the Green Knight; he expected disgust, or censure, or disappointment, but all he saw were the lovely and benevolent eyes of his Master, gazing down at him with tender concern and deep pity.  “My poor Little One,” Legolas said, holding out his arms; and with a sob Tamin launched himself into that comforting embrace.  He wept and wept, and Legolas held him and stroked his dripping hair; Gimli busied himself at the pond, removing and wiping Tamin’s sword, and dragging the unfortunate Belias from the water.  He laid the Elf upon the shingle, folding the broken and fingerless hands, and taking his cloak covered Belias’ nakedness, shaking his head.

“A good fellow,” he said gruffly.  “Nice and steady, always spoke well of everyone.  Not the best sense of humor, and took things a tad too seriously, but a good fellow all the same, and if I catch who broke him like this, I shall take my time killing him with my bare hands as just retribution.”

“Poor Belias!  That is all the elegy I can muster,” said Legolas shakily, and taking Tamin by the shoulders led him back to the ford.

Bandobras fussed and tutted over the boy, and put him in dry clothes and rubbed his hair with a blanket so hard Tamin was sure the Hobbit was trying to take his ears off.  Isilmë was quite distressed by his little master’s state, and kept pushing his nose in Tamin’s lap and snuffling at the boy’s hands, getting in Bandobras’ way and making him curse.  After some time Legolas and Gimli came back round the bend in the stream whence they had tended to Belias’ remains, looking very dirty and tired.  “We covered him with rocks as best we could,” growled Gimli, wiping his hands on his cloak.  “At least there are no scavengers about to defile his body.”

This was cold comfort for poor Tamin, who began to cry again; Bandobras glared at Gimli, and upon finding all their water skins had been left by the pool declared that he would take care of it himself, stalking off round the corner angrily.  After a few moments he came back, a bit red about the eyes himself; but he brushed off their inquiries and told them to load up and quick or he would have something to say about it and they would not like it one bit, O no they would not.  So they hung the skins on their horses’ packs, and mounted up, and pressed east once more.

Soon they began to find signs that men had been there recently:  Old campfires, and the marks where tents had been; old cups and broken plates, and bones and old gristle from a meal.  These collections of filth were disorderly; it was as though they had feasted, drunk too deeply, and in their insouciance left what they no longer felt necessary behind, not bothering to clean up after themselves.  But as before there was no sign of life:  No birds, or rodents, or even insects; and in the cracks and corners, in dells and dingles, were pools and puddles of the stinking sulphurous slime.

They camped in a damp cave overlooking the sunset, for they had no desire to face east once more, and the sun when it rose the next morning looked watery and pale behind the thin scum of cloud streaking the sky.  By midafternoon the clouds had rolled in again, and it was raining steadily, and very dreary.  No one spoke; Tamin was still heartbroken over his inadvertent kinslaying; Gimli and Bandobras were both weary and apprehensive; and Legolas brooded on Hammer’s back, his eyes glassy, his hair lank.

The tracks took them through a shallow canyon that twisted and wound round a mucky, greasy stream bed; here and there they found a broken sword, or a belt, or some article of cast-off clothing; the signs were weeks old though, and the air thick and foul.  Soon they could smell decay, and proceeded carefully, peering round the twists and corners; then as they came up out of the canyon Tamin looked up, and with a cry pointed above them.

There was a dead tree clinging to the side of the canyon wall, its roots twisting round the rocks, sunk deep into the soil.  It was lumpy and deformed, its branches reaching crookedly to the roiling sky; but to their horror they saw one lump that had not grown there:  A body was nailed to it, arms outstretched, head lolling.

They dismounted and scrambled up the slope as quickly as possible; then Legolas gave a cry of dismay and grief.  “Melima!” he said, and broke into a run.

“Stop, stop!” shouted Gimli.  “What if it’s a trap – Legolas!”  But Legolas did not seem to hear him; Gimli sighed and said:  “Well, if it is a trap he has sprung it.  O Mahal, what now?”

They led the horses up to the ridge cautiously.  Legolas was standing before his maidservant, gazing up at the body, his face pinched and pale, his eyes swimming with tears.  “O Melima!” he groaned.  He reached out one hand and touched the torn face, its eyes gouged out, the head shaved, the ears cut off.  The rest of her was similarly destroyed; most of her had been rent away, and there had been little left to affix to the dead tree.  “O Melima!” said Legolas again, and taking hold of one of the nail heads in his hands he tried to pull it out.  “Help me!” he begged Gimli.  “Help me get her down!  We cannot leave her like this!”

“Just a moment; just a moment,” grumbled Gimli, turning to his pack and wiping his eyes hurriedly.  He glanced over at Tamin, who stared up at Melima’s body with a very blank expression on his face.  “Tamin!” he barked.  “Turn around.”

Tamin jumped, then looked at Gimli; his eyes widened, and his lip trembled.  “Gimli – “ he began, then to everyone’s surprise he turned away and vomited.

“Blast!” said Bandobras, white-faced and trembling; but he took Tamin in hand and led him to the other side of the horses, where the boy could not see the Melima’s body.  Gimli and Legolas could hear him muttering, “There, there – no shame to it – here, take a sip of water – no, wait – “  Tamin retched again, and Bandobras said soothingly, “There, now.  Rinse your mouth.  That’s right.”

Gimli and Legolas worked at the nails, straining against the wet dead wood, and finally managed to work Melima free; they laid her out on a blanket, covering her torn and naked body, and with trembling fingers Legolas carefully examined her.

“I can scarce bear to watch,” said Gimli; his voice was very husky.  “Melima is – was - such a pretty young thing, with her long golden hair and large bright eyes.”  He shook his head sadly, looking down at the ruined face.  “Who did this to her?” he asked, laying one large broad hand on the naked and dirty head.  “Who would do something like this to someone like Melima?  Her pink cheeks and shy voice – “

“I know not,” said Legolas; his voice was shaking.  “Look; her stomach is torn open, and all her insides are gone.  Both feet cut off, and her hands too – “  He shook his head and dashed his tears away with the back of his hand.  “I am quite ready to kill someone right now, Gimli.”

“Well, be you sure to leave some necks for me to cleave,” grumbled Gimli.  “Though I know you will take responsibility for her death upon your own head, Legolas, as Tamin does Belias’.”

Legolas looked up at Gimli through his fair flossy hair; his grey eyes were full of tears, but his mouth quirked into a reluctant smile.  “You know me too well,” he said; his voice broke, and he cleared his throat and turned back to the body.  “Well,” he said, a little too loudly, “let us wrap and cover her well; I hope to come back some time, and retrieve her body, and Belias’ too, to give them a proper interment; but now the tracks press ever east, and my compulsion as well.”  He covered her face with the blanket, and rising to his feet turned to the east.  He clenched his jaw and his eyes flashed.  “Who are you?” he murmured under his breath, his eyes narrowing.  “What are you?”

A gust of wind hissed round the rocks, whistling derisively at them; the air stank, and thunder rumbled in the distance.  Gimli felt then a heaviness, a pressing against his face and hands, and he shook himself and drew back, alarmed.  Legolas stood strong above him, his hands clenched into fists, staring defiantly to the darkness of the east.  “I do not know who you are,” declared Legolas, shaking his fist; “but you have done great harm to those I love, and I tell you, I will not rest ‘til I have answered this vile cruelty ten times against you!”

There was a sound then, an odd noise that was not wind nor rain nor rock and stone; it was a voice, echoey and indistinct, and seemed to carry from far away.  They all started, and the horses shied, even Isilmë; they scrambled to collect them, and in the racket the voice faded.  Legolas stood anxiously on the ridge, straining to hear; but save the sound of the wind whispering round the rocks, and the horses shifting and snorting anxiously, there was nothing more.

They covered Melima as best they could, and after following the detritus of camp and cookfire rested in the shelter of a low hill.  It was covered in dead trees; there had been a great fire, consuming everything round them; in the drizzle it was very grim and cheerless.  The sun was setting behind them, and before them in the dark wet sky simmered and shimmered a malevolent presence, mocking them.  They slept poorly, and in the morning, no one felt much like eating.

The followed the tracks, winding through the dead and blasted land; there was more fire damage, and more trash, and more rain.  Legolas drooped on Hammer’s back, shoulders slumped, eyes wretched; Tamin sniffled now and then, thinking of their sad errand, and Gimli and Bandobras watched their progress with grim dread.  At noon they crested a low tor, and Tamin looking round them suddenly cried out.

“Look; something is down there!”

Gimli and Bandobras could not see to what he pointed, but Legolas after scowling at it a moment said, his voice thick with relief:  “Not a body this time!  But what is it; a dead snake?”

“No, Master, I do not think it is a snake,” said Tamin, squinting down at it.  “It shines a little, and it is awfully long, and see that spiky thing on its end, Master?  I do not think it is a snake at all.”

“Well, we won’t find out what it is standing up here, anyhow,” said Bandobras.  “Spark’s tired; let’s get down this hill and give our ponies a little rest, and we can see what this snaky-thing is.”

“Very well,” smiled Legolas, and dismounting they descended.

They reached the bottom of the decline, slipping and skidding on the mud and rocks, and fetching up uncomfortably upon the blackened remains of stumps, some still with withered leaves upon them.  They were in a low twisted canyon that opened to their right, but it was dark and shadowy, and they could not see where it led; before them and to their left were boulders and walls, corners and turns, fissures and caves, and a quantity of scrub, and amongst it all the strange scored marks on the earth of a barrel dragged, and men’s footprints.  They approached the long shining object cautiously.  It was a quantity of heavy chain, lying in the mud; it was rusty but still usable, and at one end was a long spike, covered in earth and broken at the end.  On its other end was a shackle, empty, but when Legolas turned it carefully over in his hands, he frowned; he sniffed at it, and then said slowly:  “An Elf escaped this shackle.”

“How can you tell?” asked Gimli.

Legolas handed him the shackle, and pointed at something caught in one rusty notch.  “Skin,” he said.  “And it smells like Elf.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” muttered Bandobras, looking around disconsolately.  “Ugh!  How I hate this place!  Mud and muck and slime and death.  I thought Mayor Gamgee’s tales of Mordor were bad, all the dust and dryness.  But water don’t do you much good if you can’t drink it.  Makes things worse, in my opinion.”

“It might have been Belias,” supplied Gimli.  “Perhaps they left him to die, and he escaped; and finding no way out of this desolate wilderness begged death off a friendly face to cure him of his suffering.”

Tamin turned to Gimli, his little face tragic.  “O Gimli, please, please do not remind me of that terrible thing!” he begged, wilting like a frost-bitten daffodil.  “I could not stop him; I wanted to help him; I truly did – “

“Tamin,” said Gimli gently, putting one big hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “I did not mean to grieve you.  Did I not say he came to you with despondent entreaty, to heal him of his hurts?  Betimes a thing might happen to one that time and physic cannot cure, and only death brings an end to the affliction.”

“But, but,” said Tamin, greatly confused, “how can one welcome death?  It is so permanent, Gimli, and when one has achieved it one might not go back, well, one cannot go back unless one is a great warrior like Glorfindel, which Belias was not, as he has not come back yet, more’s the pity for I should very much like to apologize to him for running him through.”

Bandobras looked as though he wanted to cry; instead he laughed, and clapping Tamin on the shoulder said:  “Gimli, there’s no use a-tryin’ to get him to understand this thing!  Give him time, though; there’s griefs aplenty in this life, Tamin me boy, and you’ll get to know them pretty well over the years; then maybe you’ll understand what we mortals got to deal with.”

“Not mortals alone!” said Legolas, ruffling Tamin’s damp pale hair.  “For now, O Tamin my Little One, let us instead focus our attention upon this malevolence that seeks to kill and harm our people; let us find it; let us hunt it down, so that we might bring it to its knees, and make it to feel a little bit of the horror and pain it has inflicted upon those we have so dearly loved!”

“Not a little bit, though!” said Tamin, his eyes very bright.  “That will not do at all.  A lot of suffering, if you please, O Master; so much suffering meted out deserves much suffering in return!”

“Dear me; so bloodthirsty!” said Bandobras.  “To think this was the boy as said Nwalmä enjoyed his work too good.  Come around, didn’t you, boy, now you know what might be done to deserve it?”

“I do,” said Tamin, and like his Master had done before he turned to the east, and raised his fist to the roiling dark sky.  “Mete torment if you dare!” he cried, defiant and resolute.  “For my Master and me and Gimli and Bandobras are coming to get you, and you had best run away fast, for we will not stop until we have found you, and paid you back for every horrible thing that you have done!”

His piping voice echoed in the valley, and the wind soughed, and the rain pattered; then there was a noise, like the scrape of bone on rock, and the clatter of stone on stone; and in the stillness that followed a voice, thin, wavering, guttural.

“Muck.”

They froze, staring round, ears straining.  The wind hissed; Hammer shifted uneasily.

“Muck.  Muck.  Crawl.”

Isilmë whickered, his black eyes rolling.  Tamin shifted closer to the horse’s warm white neck, his eyes wide as saucers; Legolas held up one long white hand cautiously.

“Muck.  Eat muck.  Crawl, harlot, crawl.  Crawl.”

A scrape, a retch and a cough.  “Muck.  Muck.”

Legolas and Gimli exchanged knowing looks, each pulling their weapons.  Nodding to Bandobras, the Elf and Dwarf moved cautiously toward the source of the voice; Bandobras crept carefully over to Tamin, and taking the boy’s hand guided it to the hilt of his sword, placing one finger over his lips warningly.  Carefully, silently, Gimli and Legolas stole forward, to the source of the voice, a low brake of dead gorse clustered round the outflung knee of a hill.

Tamin and Bandobras drew their swords slowly and held their breath.  Even the horses were quiet, staring at the gorse with whitened eyes, ears up and forward, heads alert, nostrils flared.  Step by step Legolas and Gimli moved forward, Gimli with axe raised, Legolas with bow cocked and at the ready.

“Crawl.  Harlot.”

A cough.

“Muck.  Eat.  Muck.”

A gagging noise, and another cough.  Legolas glanced at Gimli, who nodded and began moving round the outside of the gorse brake.  Slowly they advanced, their eyes everywhere.

“Harlot.”

A scrape and a rattle, and a skeleton’s arm thrust out from the gorse bushes, fingers groping and seeking.  A head followed, lolling weakly on the scrawny neck, naked and scabbed and stubbled.  Spine, ribcage, impossibly thin legs emerged, crawling in the mud, thin fingers scraping, mouth slavering.

“Eat muck.  Crawl, harlot.  Muck.”

Isilmë gave a little jump, throwing his head up, and snorted; Tamin grasped him by the nose, his heart hammering.  The creeping figure paused; the head swung slowly round, dull blank eyes staring unseeing at them.

“Harlot,” it rasped.

“Ai,” whispered Legolas, letting fall his arrow.  “Ai, ai, ai.”

“Mahal,” said Gimli, his axe trembling.  “It is Dúrfinwen!”