26. Nightingale

It felt as though a century had passed.  The seconds crawled by, each one lasting for hours.  Ever filling his senses were the scents of decay, of blood and flesh; the sounds of cries and screams, the crackle of the fire, the slick squashing sound of the dragon’s slimy scales; the vision of the bloody ground, Bandobras’ sword lying alone, covered in black blood.

There was a roaring, something pressing on his ears, on the edges of his vision.  It was like a vise on his forehead, and the relentless crash of a cataract.  His eyes were cloudy, as though filled with oil; he couldn’t even blink to clear them.

There was something in his hand – heavy and cold.  So, so heavy.  His fingers clasped it loosely; he was not strong enough to lift it.

Black eyes, filled with fire.  Fire, burning his home.  Home, gone forever.  Forever, stretching before him; bleak, empty, meaningless.  Meaningless.

Crawl, hornet.  Crawl.

What had Ushtâk meant?  Did he truly mean for him to fall to his hands and knees, creep through the mud like a worm?  Or had the Orc wanted him to bow to him – admit his ascendancy, deliver his sword and ring, vow subservience?

Crawl to me, hornet.  Crawl.  Eat Muhk.  Muhk.  Crawl.

“What is he doing?” cried Gimli, dismayed.

“He is taken,” said Vé heavily, stepping back as the dragon lowered his horrible head to the prince.  “He has lost.  Muhk has him.  It’s no good now.”  He dropped his head in despair.  “It’s over,” he said; his green eyes filled with tears.

“No!” cried Gimli.  “No, no; it wasn’t supposed to end like this!  Bandy! Legolas! Legolas!”

“We’ve failed, Gimli,” said Vé harshly, throwing his axe aside.  “All we can do is run – run!  And starve to death in that damned cave!”

“No!” said Gimli, setting his jaw and lifting his axe.  “We have not failed – it is not over – Legolas!”

Vé shook his head.  “And I thought the Elf was optimistic,” he grumbled.  “He has him, Gimli – look at his face – he’s gone.  He’s gone.”

The bones felt hard and unyielding under his palms and knees.  A skull with flesh and hair yet clinging to it rolled beneath the heel of his hand, throwing him off balance.  He blinked, struggling to push the cloying pressure away.

“If you are truly an orphan, little Hobbit,” Legolas said gravely, “if you have no family, no mother nor father to succor you, then you may seek a home elsewhere; however if you leave behind someone who loves you, would you not rather return to them, ere they pine for your company?”

“Mother is fine,” said the tiny child, gazing with adoration up at him.  “O please, please, sir; she don’t need me; she’s got my grandfather and my uncle and all them, and enough sisters to choke a mule; she won’t miss me none – she won’t, truly, sir.  O please, sir, let me go to your father’s with you!  For it’ll be such an adventure, it really will, sir, and I never seen Elves before, leastaways not more’n a couple at a time; O please, sir!”

Nestled down into his arms, brown eyes drowsing, a thumb in his mouth; the rock and sway of the horse’s withers between his knees, the squeak of his leather trousers against his hilt.  Brown curls, a bony little body, half-starved and cold, gathered in his embrace, limp and trusting.  “Hobbits should be fat and jolly,” he whispered to himself, and snuggled the little child up against his chest to warm him.

“Crawl to me, Hornet,” hissed Muhk, his great slimy head weaving back and forth, his burning black eyes fixed upon Legolas’ face.  “Crawl.  Crawl.”

“Back, back, you filthy beast!” cried Gimli desperately, hewing at Muhk’s flank and chipping off a scale; the flesh beneath was grey and oozing.  The dragon flinched, and flicked his head back; Gimli hefted his axe and shouted:  “Back off him!  You want to fight someone who hates you?  Fight me, fight me!”

“You are a fool,” grunted Vé, and when Muhk lunged at them he pushed Gimli aside just in time, and heaved his axe at Muhk’s face.  The blade caught the dragon’s nostril, and the drake howled in pain, and snapped at the young Dwarf; but now it was Gimli’s turn, and he caught Muhk’s jaw, slicing a good-sized gash in it; the black blood flowed.  Muhk hissed, his eyes furious; then he reared up, twenty yards over their heads; twisting his glistening body round he dived at Tamin, who was trying weakly to crawl away, his leg limp and lifeless behind him.

“Tamin, look out!” called Gimli, striking desperately at the worm’s stomach; the scales and skin were like tough boiled leather though, and his axe made but a scratch.  Gimli saw Tamin turn and look up; his pale eyes were terrified, and he was white with pain and fear. 

The voices pierced through the fog; Legolas shook his head violently to clear it.  He looked down between his hands, at the bones and detritus there; he saw gleaming on his finger his father’s ring, mocking his weakness with memories of his father’s adamant strength.  “What am I doing?” he thought, confused; he groped for his sword, and found the hilt warm and ready in his hand.  “That’s better,” he thought, and staggered to his feet.  His head spun; he could hardly focus on the battle before him, and he felt nauseous.

“I told you I’d come back, Master!” laughed the Hobbit; it was strange to Legolas to think that Bandobras had got taller, but he had; he was tall enough to reach his arms round his  Master’s belt-buckle without stretching.  He still took two strides to Legolas’ one, but they walked together through the tower’s hallways, Legolas’ hand on his little esquire’s head.  All they passed laughed with relief:  the black mood had lifted; their prince was returned to them with the arrival of the Halfling.  “And O what a trip it was, Master; and wait ‘til you see Mother!  She’s ever so happy to be here, she really is, Master; she said she wanted to see the kitchens right away!”

Legolas laughed out of sheer relief.  He could not be unhappy with Bandobras by his side.  Bless Gimli!

“Gimli,” he whispered; he blinked, and saw his friend running after Muhk, calling Tamin’s name.  Startled, Legolas saw his esquire, scrambling weakly back from the dragon as it advanced; like a shock of cold water he came to himself, and with a shout raised his sword and advanced through the bones.

Muhk lunged, and Tamin instinctively covered his face with his arm; but then Vé struck off the tip of the dragon’s tail, and with a bellow Muhk writhed round, lashing with his body; Vé tried to scramble out of the way, but he was caught in the chest by the swinging tail, and was flung away with a crash.

“Vé!” cried Legolas, and rushed forward, Irmatenagar aloft.  He saw Gimli dart behind Muhk’s body, saw the numerous picks and scrapes in the dragon’s scales, but no wound sufficient to cripple him.  “We might exhaust ourselves, chipping away at him like beavers at a great oak,” he thought; “and get naught for our trouble but eaten!  He must be soft somewhere!”  He stumbled over something then; thinking it was but a thigh-bone he kicked it aside; but Muhk had heard him, and swung round, his blazing black eyes upon Legolas.

Legolas looked away, frustrated and afraid; he could not look at Muhk lest the worm ensorcel him; but he could not look away lest Muhk eat him.  He heard the dragon speak; the words were incomprehensible and vile, and the clouds descended upon his head again.

“I cannot get my lord to help me with my embroidery,” Dúrfinwen complained, and Mistress Pearl laughed.  Round and round his splayed fingers the brightly colored yarn was wound; he rocked his arms back and forth, back and forth as she rolled.  Bandobras stood by the cremiére, boiling up a pot of tea; it smelled sweet and pungent.  “How about some buttered toast with our tea?” the Hobbit asked, turning and grinning; his round cheeks were flushed with the heat of the fire, and his brass buttons gleamed.  “Come now, Mother; what would you say to some nice hot buttered toast?” 

“Do say yes,” urged Seimiel with a laugh; she sat upon the floor by Dúrfinwen’s chair, her arm resting in her friend’s lap.  “I declare that Hobbits make the best toast and tea in all Middle Earth, without exception.” 

“Mind you don’t go embrangling that there yarn, now, Master,” the Hobbit warned, solemnly affixing a piece of day-old bread upon the toasting-fork.  “You don’t want to go getting Mother off-put, do you?” 

“I shall avoid such happenstance with all assiduousness, my Bandobras,” Legolas laughed, and Mistress Pearl smiled.  The toothsome smell of hot toast and butter soon filled the little sitting room, and his ears were filled with the light and melodious voices of his maids, their hoops set aside in preference for Bandobras’ strong milky tea, and crisp buttery toast.

“Fight it, Legolas; fight it!” begged Gimli, panting; he was hot and exhausted, and his hip felt as though someone had stuck an awl in the joint; it was burning and painful.  He saw Vé from across the chamber; the young Dwarf had reached Tamin, and was helping him struggle to the edge of the wall; they both looked terrified.  And Muhk towered above them, stretched upon his body like a striking serpent, flat narrow head curled down, the terrible mouth smiling at the Green Knight.  Legolas stood, his sword raised but his head turned away; he looked very pale and thin.  Muhk’s shadow fell across him, and his head drooped.

“Legolas!” cried Gimli, limping forward and brandishing his axe; he saw Muhk’s tail swing round toward him and tried to dodge it, but he was too slow; it struck him like a hammer, and he clattered to the side, gasping for breath; his ribs had broken.  “Legolas!” he gasped, blinking and looking round; he saw Legolas’ face turn toward him, eyes clouded with tears and lip trembling.  “Gimli,” he mouthed; then Muhk spoke, the deep vile voice echoing through the chamber.

“Little Yellow Hornet!” he hissed; the fire crackled and spit, and Muhk’s coils squelched and squashed together; twin jets of steam issued from the worm’s nostrils, and he vomited up bone and bits of blue armor in black bile.  Legolas retched and staggered back; but he swung his sword at Muhk’s face when the dragon advanced.  Muhk twitched back, black tongue flicking out.

“On your knees, Hornet!” the dragon ordered, and Legolas’ legs trembled and weakened.  The pressure on his head and back were tremendous, too much for him to bear; he buckled beneath it, his head spinning, his eyes clouded.

“Legolas!” cried Gimli in despair.

The fresh damp dirt soaked through the knees of his fine hose, and the edge of his doublet was soiled.  He wept, and held Bandobras tight.  The Hobbit sobbed desperately, small hands clinging to his Master’s hair and shoulders, collapsed in his grief.  “Mother, Mother!” he cried, and Legolas opened his eyes.  There the monument stood, gracefully carven from stone, with Pearl Took’s name upon it.  It was strewn with flowers and reeds, and someone – Seimiel, perhaps – had placed upon it an offering of toast and porridge, long cold, and an empty tea-cup.  The sorrow tore at him anew and he wept as well, he and his esquire both as the sun insouciantly shone and the birds so inconsiderately sang.  “I am so sorry, Little One,” he whispered into Bandobras’ curls.  “I am so, so sorry.”

“At last,” Muhk hissed.  Legolas could smell his foul breath; through his crooked camail he saw the gleam of the dragon’s fangs.  The long black tongue flicked out, brushed his cheek, leaving a gobbet of slime running down his neck and beneath the collar of his mail shirt.  The great mouth opened.  Legolas gasped, his fingers flexing; he could feel his mind slip away.

A voice reached him then, terrified; a dear voice, harsh and deep, calling him back:  “Legolas!”

He blinked, his heart shocked into life as though he had fallen into icy water.  His fingers flexed: His right hand felt Irmatenagar’s hilt, his left, the counterguard of another sword.  He groped for it; it felt hot and alive beneath his fingers, flooding his arm with sudden strength.  Irmatenagar answered the surge, and the swords trembled in his grip; but he could not seem to command his back to unbend, and Muhk’s horrible mind pressed so upon him.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a fluttering movement; glancing at it he descried the nightingale, fixing him with a stern eye.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” it demanded irritably.  “Stand up, you fool!  Or you’ll get a tooth in your back.”

“I am sorry, Gimli,” said Legolas sadly, and staggered to his feet, arms and swords extended as the dragon struck.  The shock of the double blow drove him nearly to his knees again, but he could see, as though through a mist, Irmatenagar piercing up through Muhk’s mouth so far the tip extruded from the eye; the strange sword lurched in Legolas’ left hand, and cut off the coiling black tongue.  Muhk roared in agony and the huge body writhed and roiled, dragging Legolas up with it; he kicked the air, and twisted with his right hand so that the black eyeball exploded in blood, and struck anew with his left, driving sword and hand and arm as far down the dragon’s throat as he could.

He scarcely felt the fang slice through the hauberk, and when his helm clattered off he only thought, there, that’s better before being flung to the ground.  Something very heavy landed on him, and something wet covered him; then he was hot, too hot; his skin burned, and he was screaming, though his voice sounded very far away.  There was the flutter of wings, and the cacophony of death, drowning out the tumult in his head; then it stopped hurting, and his very being seemed to lift lightly away, and drift like a feather on the wind.

And far to the south, in fair Ithilien, Faramir woke with tears in his eyes, crying aloud the name of the Green Knight.