Chapter 24. Vé

The dragon’s breath was deep and sonorous, like the bellows of a huge furnace, and its heartbeat a vile kettle-drum.  Its eyes twinkled and shone like jet glimmering with rubies, and it cocked its head endearingly at him, though Legolas mistrusted it, and remembering Malbeach’s black eyes invoking his compliance, he ducked back round the corner, though already he felt its compulsion drawing him, and the hot bile rise.

“Who was that?” asked Gimli, startled by his friend’s pale and fearful face.

“Dragon!” groaned Legolas; his hands were trembling.  “A great cold-drake – and it knows me!”

Tamin went white, and Bandobras stamped his foot and cursed under his breath.  Then the dragon spoke from its stinking abode; its voice was smooth and oily, like its skin; there was an edge of good humor there, as though a benevolent uncle had caught his shy nephews peering round corners at him.

“Come; come!  We might all be friends here.  The change in regime will not be without its difficulties, but I am confident that you and I might see it through smoothly, O Yellow Hornet.”

Legolas said nothing; his heart pounded in his chest and his head felt very light.  Had he thought Malbeach and Renna powerful enough to subdue him?  Nay; the worm’s mind pressed upon him, demanding compliance and subjugation, and Legolas trembled from head to foot with the pressure to obey.  His stomach roiled and knotted, and the looming rock walls reeled around him.  As the darkness obscured his eyes he felt a tug on his hand; he blinked, and there gazing up at him was Gimli:  Impatient, gruff, good-humored, good-hearted Gimli, his brown eyes concerned and adamant; the light in his gaze burned through the film of the dragon’s will, and Legolas’ head cleared once more.

“Gimli,” he whispered; he felt very sick.  “What shall I do?  What shall I do?”

“You shall do nothing,” Gimli growled, hefting his axe.  “Dragons!  Bandobras, Tamin; keep hold of your silly master, will you?  I’ll see what this beastie is about!”  And setting his chin firmly into his beard he rounded the corner.

The dragon’s slick and steaming head swiveled round on the bodiless neck, craning around the smoke-choked bonfire to fix its black and gleaming eyes on the Dwarf.  The long slimed tongue flicked out again, and the head twitched back.

“Bastard of Durin!” it hissed.  “I thought I smelt your vile stench, you thieving little mud-digger.”

“Contemptible worm of Morgoth!” Gimli snarled, shaking his axe at the beast.  “I’m surprised you can smell me over your own rotten stink.  Thief, yourself!  I know why you dragons sniff round our hoards.  Where have you come from?  Go back to the Grey Mountains where you belong!”

“Ah, but it is so cold up there,” the dragon rasped, looping its great slimy coils closer to the stuttering flames.  It seemed to hug itself, basking in the heat of the fire; its terrible face smiled round the grey fangs dripping slime, and steam coiled upward from its ragged, weeping nostrils.  It was disgusting; a creature of grease and decay and foul smell; its very scales oozed.   “And it is warm down here, much warmer; it warms my bones nicely.  And I grew weary of goat and wolf; they are stringy and under-fed.  Man is a sweeter meat, and Dwarf and Elf too, of course.”

“You do not belong here, drake,” said Gimli.  “Go back, and corrupt this land no longer!”

“Corrupt?”  The dragon gave a low, grating laugh.  “Corrupt?  I am not corrupting the land, O Short One; I am correcting it … correcting it whence it has deteriorated.”  The great slimy body stretched and bunched, gleaming wetly in the low flickering fire; it convulsed, stretching its mouth wide, and to Gimli’s disgust the worm retched up some dark, stinking filth onto the bone-littered earth; it was black and glutinous, and choked with bones.  Slime dribbled down the dragon’s chin, and it continued as if nothing had happened:  “I find the myriad administrations far too diversified.  Elf, Dwarf, two of men, village elders … too confusion-making; how can one keep them apart?  In order to improve this place, it must be collected beneath the protective order of one – one who will see to its proper government.”

“You, of course,” said Gimli.  The dragon laughed again, a quantity of steam issuing forth from its nostrils.

“I?” he hissed, flicking his long slimy tongue again.  “I, rule Rhovanion?  Hardly!  Dragons do not rule, O Short and Stumpy One; we have no interest in power.”  The black slimy tongue flicked out again, and it fixed its glittering eyes on Gimli’s face; he shuddered in loathing.  “Power,” it purred.  “A man’s biggest lure.  But it holds no sway for me.”

“No?” smiled Gimli.  “No, I do not suppose a worm would be interested in governing so large a demesne – too much to think about; you would soon grow bored with it.”  The dragon hissed dangerously, and Gimli said quickly:  “So where is your hoard?  All dragons want gold – gold and gems and cups and armor, swords and helms and crowns and bracelets.  Where is it?  Do not try to tell me you came all the way to Rhovanion and missed plundering the great halls of Thorin Stonehelm, of Thranduil Oropherion, of the store-houses of Dale!  What; a worm with no hoard?  It is unthinkable – all you have is bones.”  He held his breath, not sure the dragon would take the bait; to his disappointment the drake merely chuckled and said:

“O yes – you would like to know where I keep it, would you not, groveling mole?  Do you think I would keep it out here, in my parlor, where any greedy insect might drool over it, or pluck from its store a single jewel?  Nay!  I am no fool, bastard of idiot Durin; it is safe, safe from you, safe from Men and Elves too.”

“Well, it is not doing you much good, now, is it?” said Gimli.  “Why have it at all?  If you do not display it, how can anyone know how much you are worth?”

“O I am worth much,” purred the dragon, squelching its slimy coils together in a satisfied manner.  “I am not like my hot-blooded cousins – I do not put all my goods in the shop window.”

“Then I shall withhold belief in the splendor of your hoard entirely,” said Gimli offhandedly.  To his dismay the dragon merely laughed, a terrible gurgling sound.

“Withhold belief if you like,” it hissed.  “It matters not to me.  You have little about you, runt of the dirt, that interests me at all; I now possess sufficient wealth for my purposes.”

“Then what is it you want?” demanded Gimli angrily.  “Why come here at all?  What do you want of us, that when satisfied shall coerce you to leave us in peace with our new ruler, whoever that may be?  What lures you hither?”

“Hunger,” hissed the dragon, its eyes gleaming red-hot; it lowered its head, and the body began to uncurl from round the bonfire; Gimli took a step back.  “Hunger … and warmth.  Feed me, and keep me warm, and I will be very, very happy.”

“Hm!” said Gimli, eyeing the great undulating body; it looked uneven and lumpy, as though the serpent had recently fed.  “Well, there is not much round here for you to eat, now, is there?  The men have all left, and you have by your stinking emissions chased off all the game.  What is there now for you to eat?”

“There is always aught to eat here,” hissed the dragon.  “Malbeach will bring me more meat.”  The smiling mouth seemed to curl even further upward.  “He brought me you, did he not?”

“Ah, but we are hardly satisfying,” scoffed Gimli.  “Underfed and bony; not much to us at all – particularly Elves; they are rather lean and stringy, you know.”

“True,” conceded the dragon cheerfully.  “But their meat is very sweet – sweeter than Men’s, and far sweeter than you stinking Dwarves; you leave such a foul taste on my tongue.”  The black organ flicked out again twice, sampling the heavy air.  “I like Elves,” it purred, and Gimli’s skin crawled.  “Elves, and babies – so tender, so sweet!  O yes, I like it here in Rhovanion, O talkative midget; and when I have feasted on you and your little friends will I see to your steeds.  Horse,” it said thoughtfully, “is rather tough; but the bones crack so satisfactorily, especially that big back-bone, when they twitch and squeal in my jaws.”  It clacked its huge mouth together, and flecks of venom dripped from its fangs.  “Delicious,” it hissed.

“But we are bound to run out eventually,” said Gimli, shaking his head.  “I mean, there are few of us, and we are not so easy to corner, especially us Dwarves; it would take quite a bit to sneak your snakey self into the Lonely Mountain, as you have no wings or legs or fire to aid you.”  The dragon growled a bit, its eyes flashing; and Gimli added, “Well, at any rate, when the food disappears round here, it seems to me you have but to return to the Grey Mountains and feed on your fire-drake cousins – I’ve heard you worms are really not that particular about what you eat, now, are you?  That is, if you can get a bite in; I will wager one good puff from a fire-drake would cook you in your stinking skin - ”

The dragon gave a rasping roar then, and with terrible suddenness struck at Gimli; he dodged aside, anticipating the lunge, and ducking back round the corner he shouted:  “Run!”  Together they all pelted up the tunnel, Legolas dragging Dúrfinwen along by her arm; behind them squelching like some huge, oozing grub came the worm, its coils sliding effortlessly over the slimy floor, hissing and spitting like an enormous pot of gruel.  “Hurry, hurry!” sobbed Tamin, grasping Bandobras by the collar and pulling.  “O Bandy, hurry, run, run!”

“I’m running, I’m running!” gasped Bandobras.  “Don’t wait for me!  My legs are too short for this kind o’ thing!  Damn you, Gimli! Why’d you go of cheesing it off so?”

“More running, less talking!” gasped Gimli.  “Run, run!”

They burst through the entrance of the cave with the dragon’s head at their heels.  It was sizzling and gurgling and spitting; the stench was tremendous, for it vomited as it came, and snapped its bony fanged mouth at them.  “Up, up, quick!” cried Gimli.  “Separate!  Get above it!”

“Oh, I see!” panted Bandobras, his face clearing, and he and Tamin scrambled up the north face of the hill.  Throwing Dúrfinwen’s writhing form upon his shoulder Legolas darted up the other side, and faster than one would have expected, Gimli climbed behind him, using his axe as a cane to aid him.  “Up, up!” Gimli cried, turning and swinging wildly at the weaving serpentine head snapping at him.  “Higher, higher!”

There was a twang and a thunk, and one of Tamin’s arrows grazed the dragon’s head; it gurgled and turned, furiously lunging at the Hobbit and the esquire perched upon the rocks.  Then more twangs, and with a zth, zth! two of Legolas’ arrows struck true, one impaled into the soft fleshy throat, the other embedding itself in one nostril.  The dragon roared and turned; the arrows had merely stung it, like a bee stings a bull; it bellowed:

“Little Yellow Hornet!  You will not cut off my head and put it on a pike!”  And the dragon lunged at Legolas.  Tamin and Bandobras shot again, but though their arrows pierced the worm’s scales they did not harm his flesh.  “Now I shall find out what Elf-prince tastes like!” said the dragon with a terrible laugh, and looping its coils beneath itself it stretched its distended body up to reach for Legolas and Gimli.  But as it struck, Gimli heaved his axe, and the great blade cut off one of the dragon’s scales; it cried out and twitched back, and Legolas grasped Dúrfinwen and fled up into the rocky face of the hill.

Gimli cried:  “Run, run!  I’ll hold it back!” and stood, feet planted firmly on the stone, hefting his great blade.  He looked at the writhing form of the dragon and laughed:  “You odorous abomination!” he cried.  “Steal the Arkenstone, will you?  Well, here is one Dwarf you shall choke on!”

“Not today!” said Legolas, and grasping him by the collar jerked him down with sick suddenness into a dark hole.  He stumbled and rolled, sliding on a slick slope covered in mud and pebbles and stone; he dropped his axe and flailed about, trying to catch hold of something to stop his descent.  He was surrounded by sound – the roaring of the dragon, voices, the rattle and bang of moving rock, all echoing and blending together; then he rolled, knocked his head, and fetched up against a stone wall, though he landed on something soft that grunted beneath him.  He blinked in the darkness, groping for his axe, and felt hands push him aside. 

“Ouf!” said Tamin’s voice under the racket.  “I do not mean to complain, Gimli, or to be insulting in any way, but you are much heavier than you look!”

“Up you go!” said a strange voice, and a hand grasped his and pulled him upright.  “Quick, now!  He hasn’t managed to stick his nose in here yet, but you’ve made him awfully shirty, and I won’t wager any of my treasure he’s not mad enough to dig us out.  Hurry, all of you; hurry!”

“My axe!” said Gimli, very disoriented, but the voice chuckled warmly and said:  “Now, now; don’t you worry about that!  Got plenty more to replace it, and you’ll find it hard to argue when you see what I’ve got to offer you!”

“Come, Gimli,” said Legolas; blinking, Gimli found his friend, leaning panting against a low crooked wall in the dark, clasping Dúrfinwen’s struggling form close.  His nose was bleeding and his hair in terrible disarray was matted to his face.  Beside him trembled Tamin, his tunic twisted wrong way round, and Bandobras, shaking his head in disgust, glared up at him.

“Making a dragon all cheesed off,” said the Hobbit, his voice heavy with comtempt.  “Of all the tom-fool things to do, Gimli – “

“You do like to argue, don’t you?” said the stranger, and Gimli turned round, and to his shock beheld a young Dwarf, gleaming a little in the dimness.  There was another bellow from the passage above them, and they all looked up; the dragon’s huge head smashed against the stone, and a great smut of dirt and rock came crashing down the passage.  “That’s torn it!” said the strange Dwarf.  “Hoof it now, double-quick!”

They followed him down into the darkness, dodging bouncing stones and sliding on the pebbles and mud; at last the dragon’s roaring faded, and they still went down, down, down, and back into the hill.  The young Dwarf led them silently, winding through the passageways, ducking beneath ledges and climbing upon great stair-steps, dodging stalagmites and pressing ever further east; they scrambled behind him, silent except for their panting breath, and Dúrfinwen’s groans.  At last the Dwarf led them round a corner, and they could see firelight; he pushed a heavy curtain aside, and led them through with a wry smile.

“Welcome!” he said; “welcome!  Welcome, you crazy lot, to the House of Vé son of Búri!”

They stepped through the entryway and stared in amazement.  It was a high vaulted chamber, much like the dragon’s had been, but cozier; instead of bones piled round the great fire in the middle gleamed treasure – a great hoard of gold and gems, jewelry and crowns, gowns and goblets, plates and silver, velvet curtains and fur rugs, statues and crystal lamps and golden sconces and jeweled belts and ornate weapons, all luminous and glinting in the firelight, dazzling them.  The Dwarf sauntered up to the flames, and taking up a bedizened scepter poked at the fire.  Its smoke meandered lazily up into the darkness of the ceiling, but there was the softest sigh of air, telling them the fissure far above them drew the choking smoke away, and let in sweet breathable air.  Then the Dwarf cast his sparkling poker carelessly aside, and pulling up a woven wool rug of marvelous beauty, gestured to them.

“Have a seat, do,” he said politely.  “I’d offer you food and drink, but I have none; all I can give you is a portion of this treasure, so that you as I shall die rich and not poor.”

Legolas was the first to stir.  He approached cautiously, the firelight shimmering on his fair disorderly hair; the blood on his face caught the light and glistened back.  He gently lowered Dúrfinwen upon the rug; she twisted and squirmed, wrapped in her blanket-cocoon, much like a snake herself.  The young Dwarf looked up at him, head cocked; his short bristly beard was red and curly, and his green eyes twinkled. 

“Vé son of Búri, at your service,” he said politely, and bowed.

Legolas hesitated, then bowed back; when he straightened he was smiling wryly.  “And you have been that ,O son of Búri!” he said.  “I am very grateful to you, else my friend Gimli would be supper for a serpent.  Legolas son of Thranduil, at yours and your family’s.”

Vé whistled.  “Son of Thranduil, eh?” he said, hooking his thumbs in a splendid gold belt and rocking back on his raggedy boots.  “Elf-prince, eh?  Thought you lived away down south – “ he waved his arm vaguely behind himself “ – and wouldn’t have much truck with the doings up here.”  He looked Gimli over, his mouth twisting into a sardonic grin.  “That means you must be Gimli of Aglarond, Glóin’s son.”

“You are well-informed,” grunted Gimli.  He approached the young Dwarf, then winced in pain and rubbed his hip.  He glanced back at Tamin.  “I might be heavy, Tamin, but you’re too bony to be a good cushion.”

Tamin’s face changed; he had looked bewildered before, but he took Gimli’s lighthearted censure to heart and said earnestly:  “O I am so sorry, Gimli; I did not realize you would need me to be fatter to cushion your fall better – “ Then he started back and frowned.  “Hold,” he said slowly.  “You – are teasing me, aren’t you?”

“Goodness!  So he can be taught,” grinned Bandobras.  He stumped up to the Dwarf.  “Bandobras son of Reginard, Blue Knight of Dol Galenehtar,” he said, shaking Vé’s hand.  He looked round.  “Nice place you have.  Décor’s a bit flash, though, and I can’t say I care much for your neighbor.”

“Me neither,” laughed the Dwarf.  “Noisy, stinks, and keeps wanting to eat me.  Not my idea of a cooperative compatriot at all.  I’d lodge a complaint with the management, but I’m not certain at this point who that might be.”

Gimli approached the young Dwarf slowly, limping a little.  “You have been greatly at our service, Vé son of Búri,” he said.  “I would reward you in kind if I could, but I fear we have little to offer you.”

“I expect very little from you,” said Vé.  “No one so far has been able to do a single thing about this ridiculous situation; you shall likely fail, as all others have.  Sit down, do!  You all look very well-traveled and hungry; I can do nothing about your hunger, but these rugs are quite comfortable.”  He cast his eye over Dúrfinwen, who had settled a bit and lay very still.  “A prisoner?” he asked politely.

“A refugee, like ourselves,” said Legolas.  He sat cross-legged beside her.  “How safe are we here, O Vé?”

“Safe enough,” shrugged the Dwarf, casting himself carelessly upon a gorgeously embroidered cushion.  “Malbeach doesn’t know I’m here, and the dragon can’t fit through that crack.  There’s water – not terribly clean, but I boil it in that nice pewter cauldron – I don’t think that’s what the cauldron was meant for, since I’m scorching it, but really, who cares?  It’s not as though any of this stuff will get back to its original owners, anyway.  But yes, you’re safe; take off your shoes, look around!  There’s loads of stuff to admire.”  He watched Gimli shrewdly as he limped round, pushing things aside with the toe of his boot or turning it carefully over with his hands.  “You might recognize some of it,” he added, and jumping up he climbed over one of the piles furthest from the fissure.  He dug round a minute, casting aside silver cups and carven urns; then he lifted a great globe of light out of a box, and with a reverent smile turned to Gimli.  “Look!” he said, holding it out.

The gem gathered light into itself and cast it back, brighter and lovelier than firelight had ever been; it glimmered and glittered like moonlight on a tumbling cataract, like starlight in a lover’s eyes, like silver in the sun.  Tamin and Bandobras gasped, and Legolas leapt to his feet; Gimli’s face was a study of wonder and awe, and he was struck dumb at the sight.

“The Arkenstone!” Legolas exclaimed.  “The Heart of the Mountain!”

“Indeed!” said Vé, clambering back over the treasure and plunking it carelessly in Legolas’ hand.  “Pretty, isn’t it?  I’ve heard tell of it, of course; we still sing songs about the Lonely Mountain in Ered Luin.”

“Ered Luin!” exclaimed Bandobras.  “You’re a ways from home, ain’t you?”

“And so are you, good Hobbit!” laughed Vé.  “Yes; we got tired eking out a living in the Blue Mountains after the kings had gone, and decided to try our luck with our relatives in Erebor.  Not very lucky after all,” he added, grimacing.  “Got our share of treasure, but it didn’t help much, did it?”

Legolas looked into the Arkenstone.  He had never seen it before, though his father had told him of its perfection and beauty.  Cradling it in his slim hands he gazed into its depths, entranced by the mirrored and rainbowed facets.  He laughed.  “Tamin, come look!” he said merrily.  “It is better than staring at the stars.  Look, Bandobras!  Look, Gimli!”

“I have seen it,” said Gimli; his voice was choked.  He stared at the stone in his friend’s hand, watching Bandobras and Tamin crowd round it and gawk at its light, touching it lightly with wondering fingers.  His hands trembled, and he turned on Vé, who was putting a splendid crown on his own head, fitting it with his filthy fingers, a look of satisfaction on his face.  “Why is it here?” he demanded.  “Why is it not in Thorin Oakenshield’s tomb?  How did you come by it?”

“No idea,” said Vé, balancing the crown carefully.  “Here, hand me that polished brass mirror, will you?  I like the way this crown fits – the other three are too heavy.  Ah!  Looks well on me, don’t you think?  Rubies are nicer than garnets.  I found it in the dragon’s store-room, and decided it might as well live here with me as in that filthy place.  All mud and filth and bones; that creature has no sense of propriety.”

“You mean there is more of this?” demanded Gimli, gesturing to the piles of treasure all round them.  “More gold, more gems, more precious things?”

“Oh!  Heaps,” said Vé dismissively.  “Malbeach stole it from the Dwarves, and the dragon stole it from Malbeach, so I stole it from the dragon.  Makes a nice circle that way, I think.  Poetic justice, so to speak.  Not that I can do much with it, because whenever I set foot outside the old worm tries to eat me, but it’s fun having it round.  Gives me that wealthy and opulent feeling, which I never got from coal-mining, I must confess.”

“But, but,” stammered Gimli, at last surrendering to his curiosity and reverently lifting the Arkenstone from Legolas’ hands.  He cradled it gently in his palm, staring hard into it, as though in its depths he might like some augur see the future.  “But why would the dragon steal from Malbeach?  He claimed he had no use for wealth.”

“Ha!” scoffed Vé.  “Have a sit-down, friends; I can tell you’ve got a lot to learn about that worm out there.”  He nestled down into a pile of fur rugs, steadied his crown, and grinned up at them as they clustered round.  Tamin sat pressed close to his Master’s side, and Bandobras cast himself upon a great cushion with a sigh; Gimli lowered himself carefully upon the rug, wincing, for his hip pained him; and he clutched the Arkenstone close, though its light flickered forth through his fingers.  “You’re newcomers, I can tell,” he said, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back comfortably.  “Now, I’ve been here two months, I have, and can put you straight concerning the goings-on out here.  Though I warn you, there’s not much good in my tale, barring the accumulation of my filthy lucre, of course.”

“Two months!” exclaimed Bandobras.  “Why, what’ve you been living off of?”

“It didn’t start getting so bad ‘til last week,” said Vé.  “I could sneak out, get some game.  But about eight or nine days ago, all that slime just started popping out of the soil – rotten stuff; chased all the game off; couldn’t even find any birds barring that silly thing.”  He gestured behind and above them; they turned, and beheld a nightingale perched on a low stone, its creamy feathers ruffled against the smoke, cocking its little head at them.  Its black eyes glinted a little in the firelight.  Legolas rose, his mouth open in astonishment; the nightingale fluttered toward him, and when he held out his hand it alighted upon his thumb.  “Watch out,” began Vé, but then the nightingale gave a little trill, and loosed its bowels in Legolas’ palm; then with a noncommittal squawk shot up into the ceiling and out the upper fissure.  “Yes, it does that to me too,” said Vé, grinning as Legolas grimaced, and Tamin scrambled to find a cloth to wipe his Master’s hand.  “Doesn’t even sing, just waits ‘til I’m not looking, and shits on my head.”  He glanced at Tamin, who looked shocked.  “Sorry,” he said contritely.  “But it does.  No idea what it eats, but it keeps hanging round, as though it’s waiting for something.  Or perhaps it simply doesn’t know where else to go.”

“Perhaps,” said Legolas thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling whence the bird had gone.  “Perhaps.”

“So you’ve been out here for weeks, all alone?” asked Bandobras suspiciously.  “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

“I volunteered, believe it or not,” grinned Vé.  “Newcomer and all that, wanting to make a good impression on King Stonehelm.  He never believed the Elves stole from us, you know, your highness,” he added to Legolas who, having satisfied his esquire’s desire for cleanliness, lowered himself gracefully to the rug, tucking his long legs beneath him.  “Figured either Girion or Malbeach were behind it, and sent fifty of us to investigate.”

“Fifty!” said Bandobras.  “Where are the rest of you?”

Vé’s smile faded, and his eyes clouded over.  “Well,” he began, and coughed, wiping his eyes.  “Well,” he said again, his voice very rough; he cleared his throat and tried once more.  “Well,” he said, and heaving a great shaking sigh, pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms round them, resting his chin on his knees.   Twin tracks of tears disappeared into his short curly beard.  “I’m – the last one left,” he said; his voice trembled.  “We – were harried into the east by Malbeach – his men picked us off one by one.”  He closed his eyes.  “Kálfar was first,” he said.  “Two men stabbed him to death.  When his brother Álfar tried to stop him, they set his beard on fire, and burned his face off; they left him screaming on the side of the path.  Ten of us – led by Skír – tried to rescue him – a hundred men came at us, hollering for our blood.  Skír fell, then Bláin and Wáin … “  His voice faded, and he opened his eyes, which were streaming with tears.  “Out of fifty Dwarves, only I remain,” he said; his voice was choked and thick.  “We – hid amongst the rocks – thinking to evade the Men.  But then the dragon came … “  He shuddered and closed his eyes again.  “That was worse,” he whispered.  “He really does like eating us, you know.  He is hungry – Oh!  So hungry.  But the filth, he wants to eat us alive – limb by limb – ugh!  Horrible creature!”

“I am sorry,” said Legolas gently, putting a sympathetic hand on Vé’s shoulder.  “We have also seen the detritus of what the dragon and Malbeach’s men might do to our people.”  He gestured at Dúrfinwen’s still form.  “Here is one of my folk,” he said sadly.  “The poor mad broken thing; I do not know what to do with her!”

“Eh?  Her?”  Vé blinked his tears away and leaned in, frowning.  “Hm … take off her blindfold and gag, will you?  I want to see if I know her.”

“Are you certain, O Vé?” asked Legolas.  “I suspect either Malbeach or the dragon see through her eyes.”

“Quite likely,” agreed Vé.  “Well, he knows I’m here, and knows you’re here; what’s there for him to learn?  Besides which, if he sees through her eyes it’s odds-on he hears through her ears – what are you going to do; cork them up?  Let her eyes and mouth free; she can’t do any further harm in here.”

“Very well,” said Legolas, and gently unwrapped Dúrfinwen’s head.  She blinked and stared up at Vé, her dark eyes panicked and afraid, cringing back from him and whimpering.  Vé studied her face carefully, his brows knotted; then with a sad sigh he drew back.

“Ooooh,” he said.  “Yes … I remember her.”  He shook his head.  “Brave lassie, aren’t you, Dúrfinwen?” he said regretfully.  “You tried your hardest, but it came to naught in the end, didn’t it?”

Dúrfinwen’s thin bloodied lips worked soundlessly a moment, then her voice came out in a breathless whisper:  “Kill me … son of Durin … kill me!”  She looked wildly round, fixing her eyes upon Gimli; she drew in her breath in a hysterical sob.  “Kill me – please, please, kill me, kill me!”  She glanced at Legolas, and her eyes hardened and darkened; she gnashed her teeth together and shouted:  “Hornet, I shall send my slave after you – beg for death before he finds you; beg for death, for death!”  Her body twisted horribly on the rug, and Bandobras and Legolas tried to restrain her; she began to sob and retch.  “Harlot, harlot!” she cried.  “Liar, you promised, you promised!  Melima!  Melima!”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Vé.  “No, I’ve changed my mind; go ahead and put the gag back on her … phew!” he said, when she had been bound and confined once more.  “Well, can’t say I’m too surprised, poor thing!”  He shook his head.  “Malbeach and his men have a lot to answer for – quite a lot,” he said.  “Destroyed my folk one at a time, and what he did to yours – well, I just hope poor Belias is good and dead, after what they did to him.”

“You saw?” asked Legolas, turning white.  “You saw what happened to my people?”

“I did,” said Vé grimly.  “And I’m sorry, your highness, but it’s not a nice tale.  Brím and Rór and I were the only ones left – we were hiding in a cleft and watched what the Master and his little whore called their ‘sport.’”  He grimaced.  “Horrible,” he added in a low voice, and shuddered.

“Wait,” said Bandobras, glowering.  “Renna was there too?”

“Oh yes!” said Vé, making a face.  “Disgusting creature – seemed to have it in for Dúrfinwen here.  ‘Twas she had all that pretty hair cut off and made into a wig for herself.  Stood there laughing she did, while the men went at her and Melima, and when Dúrfinwen fought back they brought out Belegtilion.  Skinned him alive to make Dúrfinwen behave – kept promising her they’d stop if she did what they said; but then they’d take more of him away – started at his feet,” said Vé unhappily.  “I still wake up hearing him scream.”

“Oh, no,” whispered Tamin, burying his face in Legolas’ breast.  His Master sat frozen in horror, hands trembling and face pale.  Vé looked at them apologetically.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “Do you want me to stop?”

“Well,” said Bandobras shakily, “we did want to know what happened to Belegtilion.  Oh, heavens; that’s horrible – horrible.  Them evil men!  I’ll skin ‘em myself, I will, the filthy pigs!”

“I’ll help, given the opportunity,” said Vé.  “Well, you can pretty much guess what happened next.  When Belegtilion died they knew they’d have to work on the others to get Dúrfinwen to do what they wanted.  Carved up Melima then – made Belias watch.  Nearly went mad with it, he did.  Not sure where he ended up – I hope he’s dead, poor chap; he certainly begged for death when they were through with him.”  Vé looked round at them, his green eyes owlish.  “Go ahead and call me a coward,” he said gruffly.  “I know I deserve it.  I ought to have died myself, trying to help them.  But there were a hundred of them – and three of us left.  We had watched all our boys die horribly, too.  We didn’t know what to do – and so we did naught – and I don’t mind admitting I hate myself for it.”  He looked round the room, glittering with wealth.  “About the only thing I can do now is steal this stuff from the dragon,” he said, his voice heavy with loathing.  “That, and starve to death.  But he won’t be able to get to his swag – that’s my only consolation – that, and Brím finding the Arkenstone and stealing it.  Should’ve heard the worm yell when he found it missing!  Why, he was so angry he ate Brím in one bite – lucky bastard, going quick like that.”  He gestured to the fire.  “Rór wasn’t so lucky.  Had his legs bitten off.  I couldn’t keep him from bleeding to death, even after I dragged him down here.  He died last week, about the time the game dried up.  So here I sit,” said Vé, smiling grimly, “stealing gold from a dragon, and waiting to die.”

They were silent then, Vé sunk in gloom, and the others ruminating over his sad and horrible news.  Tamin was weeping, but in a distracted way, as though he had done it so much he could cry without thinking much about it.  Legolas wept too, thinking of his friends’ fates, and Bandobras watched them, torn between grief and pity.  At last Gimli spoke.

“I do not understand,” he said at last.  “Why a dragon?  Whence came he, and why?  It cannot be simply for hunger; it must be for treasure.  But why dally with the sons of Men?  What do Malbeach and Renna gain from this, and why does he use them?”

“Well, that’s not so difficult,” said Vé.  “Heard him myself, and heard the men talking when they didn’t know I was hanging round.  Malbeach gets his power from him – Malbeach and Renna both, though Malbeach is stronger.  See, this is how it happened, from what I overheard:  Renna started the whole thing – did divining, or auguries, or something like that, and knew that a cold-drake had come down from the Grey Mountains, and she actually came out here and met him herself.  The men say that’s where he got his taste for children – she offered her children to the worm in exchange for what she wanted – beauty, influence, love.  Of course Malbeach didn’t care much for his wife letting a dragon eat his sons, but once he realized what he could have – money, power, lust’s fulfillment – he went along with it too.  Thick as thieves and like two ticks, sucking each other dry, are Malbeach and Renna – though Renna’s gotten the worst of it, I think; not that I’m terribly inclined to feel that sorry for her.”  Vé looked sadly down at Dúrfinwen, lying groaning beside him.  “Everything they did to her,” he said.  “Renna just stood there and laughed.  Just … laughed.”

“So the dragon does want treasure,” said Gimli heavily.  “Malbeach was stealing from Erebor to gain the worm’s good graces, and the worm is using Malbeach to get more gold, and more meat.”

“That’s about the strength of it,” agreed Vé.  “The dragon doesn’t want Stonehelm or the Elvenking around, either – hates Elves and Dwarves.  Hates Elves, because he can’t offer you anything,” he said to Legolas and Tamin.  “You don’t want treasure.  You don’t want to gratify yourselves at the expense of others.  You don’t want to kill people just to gain power.  He’s got no purchase with your folk, see.”  Vé’s mouth twitched into a reluctant grin.  “Never thought much of Elves before,” he admitted.  “Thought they were all hoity-toity … like they were walking round with their noses in the air, thought they were better than us.  Always sort of resented that.”  He studied Legolas and Tamin, their golden flossy hair and fair faces, the starry grey eyes and slim strong forms.  “I know better now,” said Vé.  “He’s right to hate you.  All he can do is eat you – he can’t corrupt you.  And us, of course,” he added, grinning at Gimli.  “All the drake’s got to do is look a Man or an Elf in the eye, and he’s got ‘em – poor saps’ll do anything he says.  But us?  Not at all.  He’s got no control over us.  Not sure why, but I’m not complaining.”

“The cold-drakes are not as powerful as their hot cousins,” said Gimli.  “I am actually surprised that we have encountered one of their ilk at all.  Tharkûn said there were few cold-drakes left.”

“You knew Tharkûn?” asked Vé, startled.

“Yes,” said Gimli, smiling.  “Legolas and I traveled with him for some years.”

“Fortunate,” Vé sighed enviously.  “I would dearly love to meet a wizard!”

“That is not something I can readily promise you,” said Legolas; “I do not think me the Istari remain here in Middle-earth.”  He fetched a sigh, his eyes sad.  “What a terrible tale!” he said to Vé.  “I begrudge you not this though, for you give it willingly to us, and I thank you; your kind sympathy in the telling thereof is of great value, and I do not disparage your great heart.  Be well, O Vé son of Búri; you are alone no longer, and though great this danger to us, perhaps we might together descry a way around it.”

“I can’t see how that could happen,” said Vé.  “And I hate to get attached to you fellows – seems like everyone I’ve gotten to know out here in Rhovanion has died in pretty awful ways, and I’d rather none of you got skinned or chopped up or – or worse,” he added hastily, glancing at Tamin, as though for the first time realizing how young the boy was.  “But I’ll pitch in if you’ve got any ideas; I’d rather get Muhk angry and die suddenly than starve to death.”

“Muck?” said Gimli, puzzled.

“Muhk,” said Vé.  “That’s the dragon’s name.  Muhk.”  He grinned.  “Fits him, doesn’t it, the slimy thing?”

“It does,” said Legolas, glancing at Dúrfinwen.  “Also, it explains quite a bit to me.”

“So,” said Vé, leaning back on his hands.  “What next?  Gimli’s discovered that Muhk’s a bit too quick to divide and conquer – “

“Yes,” said Bandobras, throwing Gimli an evil look.  “You could’ve warned us, you know, before you went and got him of chasing after us like that!”

“Of course I could have,” growled Gimli.  “I would have just said to the dragon, ‘Pardon me, sir, whilst I confer with my friends,’ and nipped round the corner to tell you – in his hearing, mind! – that I wanted to get him angry enough to come out of the cave, so we might circle round behind him and attack from both sides!  Just so you know, Bandobras, if I ever goad a dragon again, that is my plan!”

“Thank you!” said Bandobras dryly.  “It’s nice to be informed.”

“Well, at least we know now that it won’t work,” said Vé.  “Did you fellows walk out here alone?”

“No,” said Gimli.  “We rode.”

“Good!” said Vé, rubbing his hands.  “That’s a fair treat!  Muhk’s sleepy after he’s eaten – which he has, and which is why you’re not a meat pie right now, Gimli! – so while he’s digesting those ten young men Malbeach fed him today, we can slip out and find your horses and get out of here.  Let’s make tracks to Erebor – at least that can be sealed up against a cold-drake; and anyway I want to bring the Arkenstone back to Stonehelm.”

Legolas shook his head.  “No,” he said firmly.  “That is not why I have come.  I know that now.”

“What?” said Bandobras.  “What do you mean?  We came out here to find out what happened to your folks.  Well, we’ve found out.  Three dead, and one mad; ain’t that bad enough?  And now we know who the Master of Esgaroth is, and what he wants, and I’m with Vé – let’s hoof it home!  Your dad can lock himself up in Eryn Lasgalen, and Gimli’s dad can lock up the Lonely Mountain, and – “

“And we leave a dragon to devour every last Man in Rhovanion?” said Legolas.  “Nay, my Bandobras!  I was driven east for a reason, and finding the nightingale here reassures me.  I am the hornet; the hornet stings the worm.”  He looked round at his friends, who were staring at him in horror.  “It is time to kill a dragon,” he said, and smiled.