Myras chewed her bit impatiently as Gandemere kept her slowed to the army's pace. The sole rider now, he felt the loss of his companions sorely. He worried about Dournil of course, but Dournil had five times more life experience than Valandil. Men tend to learn a little faster, perhaps, than the other races. He reflected. The fact that they don't live as long seems to make that a reasonable assumption. The strong blood of Numenor runs in our veins. Without that, I foreswear! The race of Men would dwindle and lessen in strength, intelligence and longevity. A chill ran down his spine as the very idea of a world of Men, without the blood of Numenor in them, was born. Though Numenor was gone from the Earth, Elendil and a few others had taught the high ideas and values of the Valar to the peoples of Middle-Earth. Loyalty, honor and incorruptibility, all the high standards of the Kings, empathy, care and responsibility, taught by deed and example. Most of the baser things of Numenor blood had been lost when it sank beneath the waves. Only those with pure sight, good instinct and strong will, survived. Sauron, also had survived along with his minions. Gandemere was not too worried about Elrond or Huthorin. They had years and experience both. Also Elrond now wore "Vilya the Blue" again.
At midday the scouts changed and not long after, he met with those coming off detail. The Orcs were still moving. Ahead the land, though still rolling, started to change character. Already the trees were becoming sparser and the wild flowers of these mid regions were becoming scarce. The Ettenmoors lay ahead, commonly called the 'Coldfells'; it was a land of rolling brownish-green, short grass, bereft of tree, shrub or flower. Desolate and cold, Gandemere did not want to cross it unless necessary. His army was already supplementing food rations by hunting and gathering as it went along. If their destination is Mt. Gundabad, then our current assignment is ended. We will follow until we are without doubt. Another day or two at most. I will send a small patrol well forward and bring the army along slowly. He decided. Gandemere dismissed the scouts.
Valandil was quite glad that he had packed his wallet tightly with Lembas before leaving camp. The mess steward had smiled widely as if a child was plundering his larder. It had rankled at the time. Valandil gave a short laugh, now. A good idea, and one more lesson learned! And I shall continue the practice, when in the field. Wrapped in leaves, Lembas would remain eatable for long, long periods of time. Valandil tried to make sure he left nothing but prints behind. "Iluvatar's Children! I wish this forsaken tunnel would end!" His voice echoed hollowly along the passage. With a sigh, he shoved the Lembas wrappings back in his wallet. At least the passage is high enough to walk upright. Valandil usually chose to recognize the positive aspects of a given situation.
Elrond was past "a sense of urgency"; he was running. The flame of his torch streamed back, almost in to his face. He held it to the side, at the forward most reach of his arm. His ring glowed bluely on his finger. He hoped that it was reacting to his inner turmoil. It did not matter enough to cause him to stop, whatever the reason, wherever these feelings or warnings were coming from, it had to do with Valandil. Perhaps he had failed Isildur at the "Crack of Doom". He had never believed that, and still did not. Regardless, he would not fail Valandil! Elrond had no preconceived notions of "perfect people." He'd lived too long already, and seen too much. Obsessing with these ideas and thoughts, he failed to notice the low spot in the ceiling that stretched him out on his back.
Tierowyn scanned for a pile of driftwood, as they came down slope to the river. Her partner, Siphus, spotted one first. He pointed, she saw, and nodded shortly. Siphus, she reflected, was new come to the scouts, very promising, all he needed was seasoning.
When they reached the pile, Tierowyn could see there was about half of what they'd need for the raft. As Siphus set to work, Tierowyn started searching for enough driftwood to finish the raft.
Gandemere watched smoke rise from the northwest. The scouts had brought in a couple of children, found wondering. They had told of Goblins tearing through their village in the night. Most of the people had been taken prisoner. The Goblins had left well before dawn. Everyone knew what Goblins and Orcs did with prisoners. On foot Gandemere's army could not catch them. They had marched hard, already. They had to be strong enough to defend themselves in the event of an Orc attack. Now it looked like his army was between two forces. As if being out numbered was not bad enough!
Huthorin pouted for something to do. Stuck under a bush! Not a fitting place for a Dwarven Warrior! He grumped to himself. Grumpy or not, he could still keep a sharp eye out. The day was growing late. And still no sign of Elrond, Valandil or Dournil. I will wait as long as possible, then I must go to my folk under the mountain. We must send aid to Valandil's army! He thought to convince his King. Huthorin settled back to wait. I shall cleave some Orcs in twain ere long.
Uduthar was enjoying himself immensely. His goal of the destruction of Men, Elves, and Dwarves of Arnor was progressing quickly. Perhaps, He thought, the Dwarves crossing high pass during his attack on the Stone Giants was indeed fortunate! By now he knew that at least one Dwarf had survived to carry a warning to 'Imladris'. The Stone Giants fled the fury of my army! They are beaten! I now control the Northern Misty's from High Pass to Mt. Gundabad. The Messengers had failed to kill Valandil, but had caused him to come forth with a token force. The Stone Giants had fled. His army from the pass was almost set to trap Valandil's army. More and more of the dark races heard of his power and success. They were swarming to his banner, now. In his euphoria he was missing other forces on the move.
The Orc army had stopped at last, or so Gandemere's scouts reported. They were half a day out in to the Coldfells. His army was half a day behind. A village had been found to the west. Supplies were being brought back. They would camp as far as they could get by sunset.
Huthorin had enough of waiting; he wanted to clear this area before full dark fell. He scratched a message in the ground where he'd been laying. I will return.
Valandil saw light ahead. Probing forward with all his senses, he could detect nothing. The hairs on the back of his neck remained quiescent. Taking that as a good sign, he moved ahead more strongly. Laying down the torch as he approached the end of the passage, Valandil saw the floor rise up steeply, and a cave beyond. Instead of rushing in to the fresh air and light, Valandil moved more carefully. Entering the cave proper, he scanned all visible surfaces. Nothing of note. Valandil began to relax as he moved to the entrance. His eyes took time to adjust.
Checking about once more, he stepped out in to the free sunlight and air. Throwing back his head, stretching his arms wide, and drawing a great breath, he smiled and tasted the clean, high mountain air while he reveled in the sunlight. His head spun briefly, causing a short bout of dizziness, then settled quickly. Now he began to look about more thoroughly.
Vasa stood high, yet the hour was early. Distant peaks marched away north, bluing into the distance. To his left or west, closer peaks towered or rose; grey mist covered the lower slopes and valleys. Snow capped the tallest ones. Valandil looked behind him. Raising his eyes, then finally craning his head back, he saw that he stood partway up a snow- capped peak. Closer down, he saw a carved lintel and doorframe around the opening he had come out of. Graven in the rock were leaves of various trees, flowers and vines that crawled and twisted their way around the whole frame. On the outer sides, fluted columns were hewn into the rock. "A design put forth by a woman, the architecture I don't recognize, though. Mayhap these Entwives have been here longer than I realize." Valandil thought that his voice sounded strange, not realizing the thin air made some difference.
Before him, at his feet, the rock fell away in terraces that wound to his right, bringing to his sight what lay in the distance, on his right. A wide green valley and on the horizon, a green smudge, dark with distance, that started northeast and ran South out of sight. Valandil was sure he knew where he was. To confirm his position he started down the terraces until he had dropped well down from the level he had started from.
The great river, long called Wilderland, now proclaimed "Anduin" by King Meneldil, glistened in Vasa's light like jeweled stars in the night sky. That made the smudge running south, Greenwood the Great! Nodding to himself, Valandil thought;
I have passed northeast to the far side of the Misty Mountains. A long trip! But, By the One! most direct! How will I find my companions now? How will I find our army? Swoop like an eagle indeed! Valandil remembered how his Mother had spoke in support of him before all the council back in Imladris.
Ah, but it could not be helped. My steps seem to have been chosen by other than myself for long and long. Though I can not see it, the reason surely will be seen ere' the road's end! His hand brushed the sheathed sword's pommel at his right side as if to say "Remember me!". Again, all that had passed crashed down on him, but this time he stood straightly under the assault. Then my path is clear, I must continue on and find my way back to my army! This eagle needs must swoop on some fell Orcs! For why else does a gift of steel come to a man! Sky Steel at that! And a great gift of old Valar rests in my tunic, wrapped in that which has held my body's sustenance and now holds the sustenance of my spirit! I must never allow myself to forget these great and high gifts! I must live up to the deeds of my forefathers, so that peace and light may come to this Kingdom and my people might live in plenty and happiness. Tharnil, I thank you for the Memberance. So saying, Prince Valandil turned to the lowering terraces as they headed north along the mountain face.
After a little while, the sound of running water grew from a small noise to a roar and he stopped. Looking down over a high cliff, a rushing torrent ran from under the mountains running East; fell to feed in to the great Anduin. This was where the river Hoarwell came from under the mountains. There was no way to go forward. Looking right, he saw below him a last ledge and on the ledge what seemed a pile of white sticks, but before he could examine them further, the clank of metal gear and heavy boots caused him to lift his eyes to the horizon, and, as the sounds ceased, turn around. Orcs stood behind him, two steps up, as surprised to see him as he was to see them. Drawing and brandishing their weapons, and with foul curses, they sprang forth from the ledge they were on towards Valandil.
Valandil cross drew both his Eket and Thilnar, as he jumped up on to the terrace that the Orcs now landed on. He did not have time to think, feel or plan. With a great cry he charged in to their midst.
Elrond picked himself up off the passage floor. His head ringing like a great bell. It had been long since something of this nature had befallen him. Now he knew that something of great import was happening or about to happen. This was a sign that he progressed too quickly! He started forward again, but at a gentler pace. He picked his way over a rock fall where the left side of the passage seemed to have fallen down, splashed through a small puddle of water and hurried onward.
Much later, after spending a long time traversing the passage, his body began to tingle, time to speed up! He did so. Soon he saw light before him. Closer he saw a cave opening out. I am close, I can feel Valandil's need! As he came in to the cave, he stretched out, running at full tilt he burst like a raging torrent from the cave mouth. Light and cool, thin air hit him like a rock or tree limb. He staggered with it, righted himself and glanced about. The belling of steel came to him from straight ahead. He ran again.
Quickly approaching he heard the foul cursing of Orcs and Valandil's strong tenor shouting oaths back. The sound of sword play was much louder, suddenly breaking in to full report as he came in sight of the combatants. Below him, on a terrace step was Valandil. Facing him, were several Orcs, engaging him in a contest of arms. Two or three Orcs lay about on the ledge, down and unmoving. But most surprising was the white glowing sword that Valandil swung and struck out with. Even as Elrond watched, an Orc fell away in two different directions as Valandil cleft it in two. The glowing sword passing thru the Orc as if water. The white glow left a trail in Elrond's vision. Elrond's blades were in his hands and Vilya answered the white sword with a brilliant blue aura, as Elrond jumped into the middle of the fray.
Valandil met the first Orc's rush, blocking with his Eket. Bringing Thilnar in his left hand, up and around, he smacked the Orc's iron helm on the side, making Thilnar ring. Punching the Orc in the midsection with his Eket's pommel, he stabbed it home into its sheath while the Orc doubled over in pain. Now he laid his right hand to Thilnar's pommel and cried out in a fierce war cry; "Baruk Kuzad!" Thilnar blazed forth a white corona of light as Valandil slashed at an angle from overhead. From the collarbone, to low above the rock, at the opposing hip, the Orc was cleft in two. Snarls and roars came from the others as they pressed their attack. Up on his left foot from the force of the swing, Valandil spun and punched Thilnar's glowing blade through the next Orc's midsection, easily passing it out the second Orc's side and chopping into a third. Now three more pressed in. One swung full at Valandil's neck, Thilnar was there to block, a quick twist took the Orc's arm at the elbow.
Four now rained blows at Valandil, slowly backing him up towards the edge. Thilnar seemed to have a mind of it's own, as it blocked each blow. The combination of man's skill and swords magic caught another from the side of the neck, the head went one way, body another. Suddenly, as the Orcs forced Valandil back and back, Elrond was there whirling in to the Orcs, bathed in a blue nimbus, fighting with two blades, Elvish style. Valandil took a head butt from the Orc missing an arm, but Thilnar took the front of the Orc's skull, chin to crown, as Valandil flew backwards into space. He crashed down onto the last small ledge with a crackling as if small sticks breaking. As Elrond spun and put both blades through the last Orc's breast to the hilts, Valandil pulled a stick out of his back and brought it around for closer inspection. He stared at it in incomprehension momentarily. What he held in his hand was a rib bone. Still pumping adrenaline from combat, Valandil surged to his feet. He had landed in a large pile of bones! With a course yell that brought Elrond to the edge above, he kicked and kicked at the pile, knocking them over the edge, into space, twirling and flipping towards the base of the cliff as they disappeared from view.
At length, battle fury winding down, and finally managing to quiet his stomach, Valandil mastered himself. "Ech!" He turned to Elrond. "Well come Master Elrond! Though I would have our meeting otherwise, you come well timed!" Valandil smiled up at Elrond. Elrond smiled back grimly, breathing hard.
Valandil began to study the area on which he stood, casting about for sign of who might have owned the bones. Orc gear! Sheathing the now quiescent Thilnar, he immediately felt a strange pull. Something winked from a pile of rotted gear. Valandil moved to investigate.
Elrond stood rooted to the spot, breathing hard. Something tugged at his soul, a muted whispering that he knew from the last age! Isildur's bane, was crying out to him once again! Before he could say a word Valandil kicked aside a pile of rotted gear and bent to pick something from the debris, small, round, golden.
There was no doubt in Elrond's mind what Valandil had.
To say Gandemere was worried was an understatement. The scouts were reporting three different armies, from three different sides, closing in. Gandemere had started a withdrawal. The only way open was back. Clearly they were trapped. There wasn't enough time to withdraw out of range. Gandemere was just looking for a place to make a stand, if such was to be found. One of the armies would catch up soon. To have any chance, the men would need some rest before battle. Gandemere refused to think about any dire outcome, though he had to admit, it didn't look good.
After less than a day on the river, Tierowyn and Siphus had worked out a system. Right now, she was steering, and would continue until dark. Siphus would take over at that time. On the right, the Misty's slid by at a rapid pace. On the left a wide valley climbed up to the limit of sight. Brush and brambles mixed with small trees and scattered wild flowers.. Though it couldn't be seen from the bottom or the river valley, on the horizon rose the Shadow of Greenwood the Great. As they ran along with the current, Siphus suddenly sat up, looking to the right. Tierowyn followed the direction of his glance. On a hill, about a furlong away, sat two riders astride horses, they were moving now, towards the river coming down off the hill. Siphus and Tierowyn exchanged glances. No words were necessary. Men and Elves rode horses, there was a good chance that the riders were friendly, still, Tierowyn's hand tightened on her bow's shaft as it lay near at hand. Likewise she noticed Siphus draw forth an arrow from his quiver, and set it to his string, but he didn't yet raise the bow.
The two horsemen had been out of sight, as they came up the backside of the hill, now they came into sight again, much nearer. The two scouts could see they wore the gear of Gondorian Calvary as they reached the bank and turned to pace the raft. Tierowyn slowly stood.
"Hail men of Gondor! What news?" One made comment to the other, then called out.
"Greetings of Gondor and Good day! Might I inquire as to who I speak?" The man smiled widely and she began to relax. "Scouts of Prince Valandil and Master Elrond! Gondor is far from here, what brings you thus?" "Dark deeds have been done to the people of House Elendil and the King of Gondor, and we search for those who have done!" "Perhaps our errands run the same trails, a closer speech seems to be indicated!" Tierowyn called back. Again the wide smile, "Then I bid you, fair Lady, land your craft, that we may take council at whiles!" Tierowyn graced him with her dazzling smile, but paid no heed to the compliment, otherwise. "Our mission is one of importance to King Meneldil, mayhap we have no time to dally at the banks while our mission lays in balance!" His mien grew more serious as he called. "Then we are well met indeed! For King Meneldil rides forth, we be his scouts!" He waved an arm in the direction of the mountains. "Stay you on your raft, we will bear these tidings to our King. He is down river some small ways! Look you for our army, there put into shore, bewhiles, we will ride!" With a wave, they spurred off, down river. The King rides forth! Great Evil must ha been done! Mayhap I will see my Dear one sooner than either dreamed! Tierowyn remained quiet until the army was sighted a little while later, hoping that Gandemere and her comrades were still safe.
Everything that glitters
Huthorin was marching south. A dark moving mass on the horizon had caught his attention. An army on the move. He seemed to be right in the line of an advance. Watching from concealment, he first saw many glints of light, then he was sure it was an army advancing, he had a pretty good idea whose, from time and position. As he came closer, he knew he'd been spotted, and the army stopped. Banners waved in the freshening breeze. He recognized the banners near the van. Grimly he smiled to himself. The banner in the fore he recognized instantly. Then Elrond's message had been received and understood. Wise and always ready to take action to defend their halls, Dain V, the King of Khazad Dum, had come forth!
Elrond watched as Valandil straightened. Gold gleamed dully in his opened hand. Valandil stared, his face gone grey and pasty. For long moments he stared, then red began to suffuse his face, his jaw tightened and his teeth showed in a rictus of madness. He looked to Elrond, on the ledge above. There was a fierce burning in his eyes. Elrond's vision swam, and on Valandil's stubbled face, he saw the once familiar bearded face of Isildur. The madness in his eyes and written on that face seemed the same as the fire and madness on Valandil's. Vilya pulled like an army on Elrond's hand. Valandil spoke, but Elrond could not make out the words. Some trance or geas suddenly snapped and his vision cleared. Valandil stood before him once again.
NO, not again! I won't let someone I care about claim this evil! I will not let it be his downfall as well!
The whole of Middle Earth will suffer great loss! Who knows what will come from the shadows at the rings call. Elendil, my brother! Forgive me! Elrond gripped tight his blades, I will take it from him and bear it to mount Doom! I shall take it even should he resist! Elrond's posture showed his conviction as his face set in a determined flatness. Elrond jumped lightly down to Valandil's ledge, points of blades raised. A light akin to madness showing in his eyes!
Valandil was in shock at what lay in his hand. At first his mind could not handle the reality of what he was seeing. The One Ring of Power! Oddly enough, it never crossed his mind that this might not be what he thought it was. His spirit recognized the power of this object, before his subconscious could sway his mind to doubt! I could rule all of Middle Earth! None could gainsay me! I would reign supreme! The image in his palm began to wax and waver. The shock receded from his mind in a blaze of white fire. Where lays the body my Father? From everywhere and nowhere came muted, evil mutterings.
Old miseries began to re-exert themselves. Mayhap some few of these bones be his? Nay! I say. Nay! The days of yammering are gone past regret! Valandil shook his head. The vile betrayer of all I held dear!
Think I stronger in will than my father? Too well do I remember the hurt of my Brothers and Mother! Too well do I remember the change in my father! Too well and too many hurts! This evil destroys all who touch it as it waits for the master's hand once again! But... I could use its power for good! Surely such power mastered could be of benefit to Middle Earth! In truth the Master is gone from this world. Mayhap a new Master .... No.. No! It must be destroyed!
The sudden truth blazed home in Valandil's heart. Well-nigh it is wayward! It is too much for a mortal to safely bear for long! It is even affecting Elrond! It seeks Vilya's subservience! Valandil looked up at Elrond. Even would it call forth in evil fashion, all the remaining Rings of Power! And all, not lost, are worn again, since the fall of Sauron! Then the beck of the ring pushed Elrond from his mind.
Thilnar vibrated slightly against his leg, bringing Valandil back to reality. Thilnar, driven by his own passions, an emotional truthsayer, of sorts, was reminding him of the truth of his convictions. Sky Steel? God Steel, belike! Thilnar had broken the thralldom of the Ring. Now the dreams of power promised by this periapt cleared from his mind, like the parting of a veil of mist or darkness! The golden-red late afternoon sun and cool mountain breeze, broke through the ice that seemed to be incasing his heart.
Valandil's hate of the ring surged forth, like water from a geysering fountain. All the years of hurt for the loss of his family, of the fall of the greatest leaders of Middle Earth, Gil-Galad and his own Grandsire, Elendil. His father and three brothers. The plundering of dark armies, the suffering of the common folk of Arnor and of all Middle Earth. Even his own Mother! For Valandil was a true son of Elendil's line! Raised to lead, raised to rule, raised to care. Red-faced with a mad passion of anger, howling from the depths of his very soul, he whirled round and threw the ring for all he was worth. Cocking back his arm, he took two steps, leading with his hip. His arm came forward and as if in slow motion, the Ring left his hand.
It sailed up and away, becoming a speck as it fell merging into the raging cataract of the Hoarwell, as it raced to feed the Anduin. It was gone. Not to be seen again for thousands of years. There was not even a splash to mark the passing.