This chapter brings back Arnen, an Elf first introduced in my story “Return to Rivendell”.

HOLDING BACK THE FLOOD

Chapter 11: Breaking Through

“Maybe the men of this land are wise to say little: one family of busy dwarves with hammer and chisel might mar more than they made.”

“No, you do not understand,” said Gimli.  “No dwarf could be unmoved by such loveliness ... We would tend these glades of flowering stone, not quarry them.”   ‘The Road to Isengard’, The Two Towers

Merry ran into the cave, dodging past Elves holding lanterns or passing back stones and baskets of earth.  When he reached the cave-in, he dashed into the tunnel being dug.

“Have a care, Master Hobbit,” said the Elf in charge, setting aside his shovel for a moment.

“This is taking too long, Arnen,” Merry said frantically.  “Glorfindel thinks the blocked-off section of the cave is in danger of flooding.”

“I told them,” Glorfindel said gravely, emerging from the swirling dust to stand in front of Merry.  “We are digging with all speed.”

“Do you know how much further there is to go?”

Glorfindel sighed.  “It is difficult to say.  There have been sounds through the earth, but too faint to pinpoint exact direction or distance.  Our shouts, and taps on the rocks, thus far bring no response; however, it is our hope that someone is digging from the other side.”

“Glorfindel,” Merry asked quietly, “which of them did you sense was still alive?”

“Legolas,” Glorfindel said.  “But Merry, that does not mean the others are not alive.”

“I know,” Merry whispered.

“I assure you, we are doing all we can to…”

But Merry’s attention had returned to the barrier, and those trapped behind it.  Small holes can be dug faster than large ones, he was thinking.  Even hobbit younglings know that.  It takes weeks or even months to excavate a comfortable, well-built smial with rooms, windows, and proper ventilation.  But if you’re in a hurry…  He took a deep breath, certain that his plan was a good one.  He just had to convince these Elves to listen to him. 

“Please ask some of your folk to start a small hole,” Merry said earnestly.  “A quick, small one; just big enough for me wriggle through.”

“I understand what you are suggesting,” Glorfindel said kindly, “but it is out of the question.  Without taking time to secure the walls and ceiling, I cannot imagine that any hole – however small – would be safe.  We cannot risk endangering anyone else.”

“I may not have done much digging myself,” Merry replied, “but I am a hobbit.  We know something of being underground.  You’re digging this big tunnel, making sure it’s shored up with timber, and that’s fine.  But we’re running out of time.  What if the barrier is less thick in a different direction?  Shouldn’t we find out?”

He pulled his sword from its scabbard, thankful that he insisted on wearing it even though he had been teased about going armed in Rivendell.

“I could wriggle into a small space, pushing this ahead of me,” he explained.  “It would extend my reach.  Maybe I could break through to the other side.” 

“It would not be--”

“Safe, I know,” Merry said impatiently.  “But I promise not to go any farther than my own body length; you can pull me back if anything starts to give way.  Please let me try.  We need to know how much more there is to dig.  We need to know which direction is best.”   How can I face Frodo if anything happens to Sam, and I could have done something?  He gazed up at the Elf imploringly.  “We need to let Sam and the others know that we’re coming for them.  It would give them hope.”

“Hope carries great power,” Arnen murmured in his own tongue, and Glorfindel gazed down at Merry, considering what to do.  He had seen first-hand the courage and resilience of these small ones, and the words of Lord Elrond were fresh in his memory.

This is the hour of the Shire-folk.

“Well?” Merry asked.

Glorfindel called several Elves to his side and spoke to them quickly, then knelt to address Merry. 

“A small hole will be dug while we continue with the main tunnel.  But you may not enter until Arnen deems it stable; we will not risk losing you, too.”

*~*~*~*~*

Gimli dug steadily, alternating between using sharp lengths of crystal and Legolas’s knife, and wielding his hammers to break up large stones.  As the space he was excavating grew deeper, he found himself lamenting that he could not take the time to appreciate the beauty of his surroundings.  The crystalline rocks that had fallen from the ceiling of the cavern, now tumbled and compacted into a formidable barrier, sparkled in the light of the burning brand he had thrust between them so he could see what he was doing.  Gems and precious stones that a Dwarf would hike long distances to admire surrounded him on every side, and lay scattered at his feet.

As the hours of labor wore on, he began to wonder if Legolas had been hallucinating after all; perhaps no one was looking for them.  Would his efforts end up being in vain?  He knew the nature of these particular stones – they did not transmit sound very well – but surely he should be hearing something by now? 

So it was with great surprise that, as he was leaning wearily against the wall for a moment, catching his breath, he heard a sudden thump and crunch inches away from his head.  He jumped back just as the tip of a knife pushed through the stones. It disappeared, then a small hand appeared to take its place.  With a cry, he reached up and grasped it, and heard a shout.  A shower of dirt and rocks fell about him, then a curly head emerged from the small hole.

“Gimli, is that you?”  It was Merry’s voice, but the hobbit’s face was so dirty the Dwarf could not have quickly identified him had he not spoken.

“Merry!”  Gimli could have danced with joy.  “You’re a beautiful sight, laddie.”

“Oh Gimli, I’m so glad I found you!” Merry cried out with relief.  “They’re digging as fast as they can.  What’s happening?  Do you need food?  Water?”

“Nay, water is the one thing we do not need,” Gimli said.  “Merry, tell the Elves that Legolas is badly injured.  His leg is broken, as well as his ribs.  He must be carried out flat, if there is time.”

Merry nodded.  “They have stretchers, and there are strips of cloth in the pack Strider left.  We can bind his ribs.”  He looked around, but it was too dark to see much.  “Are you hurt?  And what about Sam?”  He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“I am well.  Sam is injured, but alive.”

Merry nearly sobbed with relief.  Gimli squeezed his hand gently before releasing it.

“How is Frodo?” Gimli asked.

“I wish I knew,” Merry fretted.  “Strider came and got him, and Pip went with them.  Glorfindel didn’t have any news about him.”

“Listen to me, Merry, this is important,” Gimli said urgently.  “The cave is flooding.  They need to--”

“I know,” Merry nodded.  “Glorfindel told us.”

“How could anyone out there possibly know about it?” Gimli asked in amazement.

“I think Lord Elrond told him, or maybe Gandalf.  He said that Lord Elrond is holding back the water.”

Gimli slowly nodded.  If the waters had continued gushing forth at the rate they first did, we would not have lived more than a few minutes.  This is impressive magic indeed.  But whatever Elrond has been doing will not keep us safe much longer.

“They’re hurrying!” Merry promised.  “They’ve dug a long way in already.”  He calculated quickly.  “You dig more to the right, and I’ll tell them to dig more to the left, and…  Gimli, that should do it!”  He wriggled his way back the way he had come, and after a few moments, Gimli could hear muffled voices. 

With a triumphant cry, he attacked the barrier once more, hope soaring in his heart.

*~*~*~*~*

Legolas floated in a haze of fever and pain.  Gimli had previously moved Sam next to him and spread the blanket over both of them, but he felt chilled nonetheless.  He knew, from the sound of water, growing ever louder, that the slow flood was nearly upon them.  He was trying so hard to distract himself, with memories of other times and lands, that he was unprepared when there was a sudden commotion above him.  The blanket was stripped off and he tried to protest, but a murmur of Sindarin calmed him.

“Do not fear,” came a voice next to him.  “We must check your bindings to make sure you are not injured further when you are moved.  We will be careful, but there is need of haste.”

We are found, Legolas thought gratefully.  He tried to see what was happening, but light from several lanterns nearly blinded him after lying so long in the semi-darkness.  Someone adjusted whatever it was Gimli had used to strap his ribs, and he hissed in pain as he was carefully positioned so that additional cloths could be wound about his chest.  Then many gentle hands slid beneath him, some supporting his leg, and he was positioned onto a flat carrier of some sort.

“Relax, young one,” came the same voice.  “Fresh air and starlight await you.”

“Sam!” Legolas blurted out.  “The hobbit, how is he?”

“He is being taken to safety.  It is now your turn.  We will just--”

“Here now, be careful,” came Gimli’s rough voice.  “Lift him smoothly.”

“We know our business, Master Dwarf.  Stand back.”

“Gimli…” Legolas whispered.  But before he could say more, he was lifted into the air, and carried swiftly away.

*~*~*~*~*

Glorfindel felt unspeakable relief when they broke through the barrier at last.  He was one of the few who knew upon whose hand the Ring of Sapphire sat, and he had learned to sense the rare times when the power of Vilya was directed strongly… as it had when the Lord of Imladris unleashed the flood that scattered the Nazgûl.  Therefore he was aware that the subtle force was beginning to waver, and that Elrond’s strength to control the underground waters must be nearly at an end.  Finally, after what seemed an unendurably long time, the injured folk were borne past him – Sam, the Ring-bearer’s loyal companion of whom they had all grown so fond, who was unconscious, then King Thranduil’s son.  Merry walked close beside the stretcher bearing Sam, holding his friend's limp hand, and Glorfindel spoke words of praise to the hobbit for his courage and quick thinking.

The moment the Dwarf stumbled wearily from the tunnel, followed by the remaining Elves, Glorfindel urged them leave their equipment behind and get out of the cavern with all haste... and stand well to one side of the entrance once they did so.  He then quickly made his way back through the passage, and ran out into the night.  He whistled for Asfaloth, and as soon as the mighty horse trotted to his side he leaped onto his back.  Begrudging every minute that passed, at last he saw Arnen’s pre-arranged lantern signal, telling him that everyone had left the cave.  Urging Asfaloth to a gallop, they covered the miles in a blur of white and gold.  When they reached the House, Glorfindel rapidly dismounted, and raced up the steps.  He ran to Lord Elrond’s study, past an astonished Erestor, and burst into the room.  There, on the balcony, stood Elrond and Gandalf.  He hadn't dared hope that Elrond would still have the strength to stand.

“They are out!” he cried.  At his words, Gandalf faced Elrond, and grasped the Elf-lord’s shoulders.

“Let go!” Gandalf called out powerfully, his eyes boring intently into Elrond’s blank ones.  “They are free, Elrond.  Loose the waters.  Let them flow free.  Let go, my friend.”

Gandalf's shout, and the power behind it, penetrated Elrond's deep concentration, and he instructed Vilya to sever its connection with the powerful surge of underground water.  His body shuddered violently as with a snap!, the powerful forces he had kept at bay were released, and the flood reached out and whirled him helplessly in its unstoppable, icy grip.  For a brief instant his eyes focused on Gandalf’s face, and he tried to speak, but he was spiraling into a dizzying void, and could no longer control his descent.

As Glorfindel and Erestor raced to Elrond's side in alarm, the darkness claimed him, and he slumped unconscious into their arms.

*~*~*~*~*

Gimli was standing slightly apart from the crowd of Elves, breathing in the clean air, when a tremor shook the ground beneath their feet.  A shout went up, and the assemblage watched in horror as a mighty torrent of water and stone burst with a roar through the cavern's mouth.  The powerful flood swept past them at terrifying speed, and Arnen for a moment feared for the cart containing Sam and Legolas, which was on its way back to the House.  But, as Glorfindel had hoped, the surge of water found an ancient, dry riverbed between the cave and the meadow, filled it in seconds, and was diverted.  It tumbled its way south toward a cliff, where a new and powerful waterfall would take the place of one long gone.

“The barrier we labored for so many hours to pierce is no more,” Arnen finally spoke.

“And a new river graces our valley,” said one of his companions.  His calm voice concealed how shaken he felt.  Disaster had been averted by mere minutes.  “The direction of its flow should not cause danger to anyone; however, it would be best if we return in the morning to assess its path, and see what remains of the cavern.”

Arnen sighed.  “I hope it can be restored.”

“I would like to assist in that work, if permitted,” Gimli said quietly.

“We would not allow any mining in this valley,” Arnen replied instinctively.  His voice held a warning.

“Nor would I suggest any,” Gimli retorted.  “But think you that paths might be cleared on either side of this river as it traverses your cave, and a few lamps set into niches of crystal?  This was a place of exceptional beauty and peace; perhaps it can be again.”

As those who understood Westron translated these words for those who did not, there was a murmur of astonished voices, and Arnen was instantly ashamed of his harsh words.  That a Dwarf would care more for preserving beauty than mining was a difficult concept for most of them.  However, his tending of Legolas and Sam had been noted by all, and (although it was hard for them to admit) he had dug, on his own, nearly as deep a tunnel as all of them using better equipment.  It was obvious that they had undervalued this particular Dwarf.

“Please accept my apology,” Arnen said.  “We have known little of your folk… until recently.”  He bowed slightly, one hand raised to his heart.  “We would be honored if you would work beside us.”  

Gimli bowed slightly in return.

“Does anyone know exactly what happened?” he asked.  “The events leading up to the cave-in seemed most unusual.”

Arnen looked troubled.  “We have heard only pieces of the story, from Glorfindel and Meriadoc.  It is said that a dark force tried to reach the Ring-bearer.”

“It nearly succeeded,” Gimli muttered.  He sighed, stretching his arms and shoulders.  They ached as never before.

“Please accompany us back the House,” Arnen said.  “You saved lives this night, Master Dwarf.  You must be hungry and weary.”

Gimli looked up at the Elves surrounding him.  They stood tall, the bright stars glittering in their hair and eyes.  They were also as dirty as he, and must be equally weary.  The strangeness of the situation suddenly seemed quite amusing, and he threw his head back and laughed.  There was a gasp of surprise from the Elves, then a chuckle, then all of the assemblage was laughing with him.   Here was a jewel among Dwarves!

Arnen stepped forward, and clasped him on the shoulder; the first of that race he had ever touched.

“Gimli, son of Glóin, we thank you.  Well done.”

** TBC **