Rescuing Thraïn
Several months later, Gandalf has come back to Rhosgobel.
- "You cannot deploy any spark of your faculties, without immediately attracting his malice!, Radagast had implored. This I have experienced at my expense! The sleeping hydra is slowly extending the influence of its dark waters, attentive to the slightest chop rippling the quiet pond of its lurking malice. »
The worthy wizard had been struggling for many years against the Necromancer's growing power. His allies, birds and beasts of the woods, had made him familiar with the whereabouts of orcs and henchmen sent to stir up trouble within Mirkwood's communities. Now his home Rhosgobel was but a clearing, in the woods corrupted by the dark stinking clouds from Dol Gûldur. But he was not discouraged, rekindling the flame among Bearnides and men, under the guise of one of their own, and fighting the advance of the poisonous tide.
- "You had better put these togs on instead! They were won from a traveling dignitary, a high emissary I defeated one, of His repulsive despair carriers who spread darkness under the trees, fear into the heart of men and lies in the spirit of the most combative."
Gandalf donned the black suit with reluctance, not without concealing his sword under the long dark coat. In a trice, the agile Radagast applied on the hair and beard of his cousin, a dyeing he had distilled, and completed his work by applying a balm from his personal reserve, which profoundly altered the face of the patient. The grief wrinkles hardened into a severe mask, while the corners of the mouth froze into a disdaining and cruel smile.
- "Made up this way, you can keep your wizard staff without arousing suspicion, added Radagast while giving his guest a vial of Lorien cordial. May you help Thrain and his companions, if there is still time! "
- I owe them that. I shall not have a real night rest without trying again. One last thing, dear old friend ... Could you lead your friends on the northern outskirts of the fortress, and burst there your bright powers? This probably will attract attention while I try to surreptitiously enter the lair. »
.oOo.
- "You are late!"
The reproach cracked like a whip. The Uruk startled, abashed by the tone, heavy with threats.
The envoy of the Master had suddenly arisen along the stone road that snaked between sooty trees, strangled by brambles. The great orc ordered his warriors column to stop, and bowed awkwardly and reticent before the high dark figure who was staring at him severely. The spineless soldiery gathered laboriously, the first rows hoping to be forgotten, and the following ranks trying to have a glimpse at Muzgâsh being reproofed...
The master of Dol Guldur did not send his followers over trifles. The long black beard and knotted stick were unknown to him, but the embers smoldering beneath the bushy eyebrows, encouraged the Uruk to contain his displeasure:
- " 'have mauled Woodmen!"
The obsequious and malevolent smile of the orc leader unveiled yellow fangs:
- " 'taking back loot!"
A young blonde woman, dressed in deerskin, was thrown on the stones of the path at Gandalf's feet. Covered with scratches and bruises, a small face shyly raised her terrified blue eyes towards the high dark face. The wizard, his countenance somehow shaken by compassion, seized the opportunity in a flash:
- "That's what we were reported! You inept worms have captured a spy of the Master! Release her immediately!"
The Uruk's harsh tone hardly hid the terror that tarnished his gaze when he relayed the order:
- "Band of fly-slugs snagas! Do what you're told! "
Quickly untied, the captive rolled incredulous eyes. As she stood paralyzed, Gandalf snatched her arm unkindly:
- "You! You go back to your village and complete your mission! Or you will be punished severely! »
Alerted by a curious flame in the eyes of the wizard, the prisoner finally gave a nervous nod, and ran down the way, in front of the disappointed troopers. Then Gandalf turned his glare to the Uruk, without giving him time to object:
- "And now forward! Running!", Yelled the wizard, waving his stick menacingly.
.oOo.
The cohort moved off, jostling to hold off the disturbing envoy of the Master. Gandalf maintained the pace without any moment leaving his gaze off the unfortunate Muzgâsh, whose desperate thoughts listed the fashionable tortures for punishing officers who betrayed the Master's trust.
After an hour spent racing on a climbing path among blacks and twisted pines, the noisy band joined a road that led them to the eastern gate of the fortress. A huge Olog-hai questioned the chief, who gave him the passwords, while Gandalf was draping in an air of impatient authority.
After a second door, the front ranks of the troops seemed to show signs of hesitation. At once Gandalf exclaimed in a loud voice:
- "The patrol returns to its encampment! The offending will make me his report!"
It is not in the nature of orcs to feel any pity. Their solidarity only displays against the weakest, when the prospect of a safe victory promises bloody feasting at the expense of the vanquished. Hope to see slowly enucleating, skinning or gutting Muzgâsh, who had long forced them to walk straight under his whip, or maybe even to taste Uruk flesh, excited their curiosity.
Thus the orc troop broke up with such reticence that Gandalf had to threaten the most reluctant with eyebrow and staffk, before resuming his ascendancy over their fallen captain :
- "Let's start by getting to the prison! We'll see if you can make yourself useful," he muttered while waiving his staff with authority. Curiously the threat seemed to act as a sedative on the Uruk, who was surprised by such a lenient treatment.
Gandalf followed the orc who left the plaza and trudged through long tunnels. Along the way, the air was warming up and Gandalf realized that Radagast's disguise was probably the most astute imaginable. Minions they met all took a busy and hurried look as soon as they saw him. Along their descent, the wizard felt the strengthening feeling of a presence, omnipotent and sinister, far into the depths of the citadel. This awareness alert, eager but cautious, watched and listened, reigning unchallenged over its kingdom.
The duo walked along a guard hall, crowded with orcs brawlers who yelled at Muzgâsh for encroaching on their territory. Immediately, cries subsided when the soldiers realised a follower of the Master stood there. Fearful and questioning murmurs arose in their wake. At the third depth, quarters gave way to stores. The Uruk gradually showed some courage, raising his head or throwing furtive glances towards Gandalf. The wizard, feeling his grip was withering, saw fit to draw his sword, stopped his prisoner and questioned him. The battered orc was forced to answer: the cells were at the fifth depth. The duo went on his way, but Gandalf stood on guard.
At the end of a low and smelly tunnel, the orc arrived on a plateau overlooking a chasm, dimly lit by orange vapors. Muzgâsh took the opportunity to jump suddenly on a staircase that lead down along the circular abyss. Gandalf pursued him there, determined to get his guide back. But down a few degrees, the wizard, asphyxiated by pestilential vapors, felt dizzy and had to rest for a moment. The Uruk, who had probably realized that the wizard was an impostor, quickly disappeared by one of the tunnels that opened into the cliff at each level, hidden by the flawed swirling.
Gandalf was expecting that the alarm would be given shortly. Despite his nagging vertigo, so he quickly went on the dizzying descent until he esteemed to stand at the fifth depth. Sudenly Muzgâsh arose from a crevice in the wall, brandishing a dagger glistening with a deadly glow.
Sometimes even wizards need a little luck. It is true that the success of their famous adventures could make believe that their great powers stand as their true luck. However, for this time at least, a simple chance, or rather two misfortunes happily combined, saved Gandalf from disaster.
Smothered by noxious fumes from the abyss, the stumbling wizard tripped in the long robe that hid his boots. Tilting unintentionally on the landing in front of him, he narrowly escaped Muzgâsh's dagger blow. The orc, carried away by his impulse, stumbled on Gandalf's staff and was cast into the abyss!
A hoarse cry rang decrescendo but to the surprise of the dizzy wizard, it lasted with a slow terrorized vibrato. Gandalf looked over the chasm: struggling in the sticky threads of a huge web and screeching hysterically, the Uruk saw a huge spider approaching, swollen and deformed, as gigantic as a large troll.
Gandalf did not wait to attend the feast of her majesty of the abyss. The landing he was on, was used obviously to get rid of prisoners by forcing some of their friends to attend the execution. Indeed some cages, empty for now, stood around a sinister stone seat. He was certainly approaching the jails. Gandalf therefore resolved to follow Muzgâsh's indications. After a sip of miruvor1, he walked resolutely down the tunnel.
.oOo.
The sleeping conscience he felt resided far beneath the mountain, now seemed to awaken, as if the insignificant sting of a despicable insect irritated a lurking predator waiting for a prey, more worthy of his attention. Gandalf, wondering whether he was spotted, wished this blip was Radagast' endeaver.
A little further on, the tunnel uncorked in a large room, where many orcs were wallowing. Before the wizard could work out his plan, a deep and terrifying sound was heard from the heart of the ancient volcano, waking threatening echoes, like grunts spilling by all corners of the rock. Gandalf thought the alarm was horned, but the orcs seemed to respond to a call, in fairly good order.
The insatiable consciousness of Dol Guldur seemed now in full recollection, devoted to strengthening the fullness of its own power over the hordes of its prostrate slaves. The wizard took the opportunity to slip into the room and turned to the only mesh passage. Gandalf walked past the stunned guards with a haughty and angry gaze, almost defying them to question him.
He headed with a firm step into the maze of corridors. He was wandering for a long time when his thoughts were disturbed by a feeling, quite strange in this dark place – no more aversion for bitterness that seemed to exude from every wall, but pain and grief, so pathetic and hopeless, Gandalf paused and, listening to his heart, turned back and took a side passage.
He had found the jails. Far in the depths of the volcano, the consciousness of Dol Guldur untiringly feasted over its hateful vanity, plotting in the dark to swell enormously to finaly engulf the world. Appalled, the wizard walked along the corridors, lined with cells.
Revolt had deserted them long ago. Grief had dried up with tears. Even resignation cracked slowly, letting madness spread like gangrene, as the last refuge of the souls damned by the necromancer.
Only fear replayed again its eternal return, at every footstep or key sound, freezing the cells occupants under its livid screed. Pell-mell, men, dwarves and elves of both sexes were rotting there under the effect of the putrid air and abolished hope.
Petrified with horror, Gandalf ceased to wander. What had he imagined? That he would only need to appear in order to find Thrain and extoll him from his captor? That he would manage, without any dilemmas or moods, to pick from the battalions of prisoners, the chosen few who would follow him? Facing the reality of unspeakable necromantic tortures, the wizard's issue summered down to find out whether he was tough enough to free these tortured souls from corruption, by granting them the liberating gift of a dignified death...
.oOo.
Gandalf paced a few random steps in corridors, appalled and indecisive. Then he saw him.
An old dwarf, sitting on his stone bunk, breathing jerkily. His filthy clothes were held at the waist by the remains of a leather belt. Precious inlaid stones had been stolen, but the wizard recognized the insignia stamped on the loop.
The long fleshless skull, leaning against the moldy wall, did not move. Only the pupils, covered with a dull veil, seemed animated with spasms in their dry sockets. The dwarf's beard, formerly black wiry braids, shining like a raven's wing, now hung as hair clumps of frozen with dirt and inhabited by vermin.
- "Thrain?", Whispers the wizard with a broken voice that betrayed his confusion.
The dwarf's pupils, almost white, began to twirl like chased butterflies.
- "Norin? They brought you back, Mahal be praised! I cannot see you, my poor friend, fevers took my sight away. »
The emaciated body of the dwarf was shaken in a guttural cough that ended in a hissing sigh. Thrain was laughing.
- "Now no one can force me to contemplate Norin being devoured by the Lady with thousand webs ..."
The wicked laughter interrupted :
- "... You're not Norin! Who came there to torment me? Who are you?", Belched the dwarf while dangerously waving his lean frame.
- "Is it you, Dwalor?", He said, calming down.
- "… Dwalor the faithful, the last of the last as he was the first! How strong and many were we once! How did I lose you all, incapable as I am? »
The dying dwarf's chest squeezed with convulsive spasms until he caught his breath in a sob. Thrain was crying.
Lowering his voice to a whisper, the old dwarf whispered:
- "It was revealed to me, I saw Him in His mirrors room: greedy Gundabad Orcs at war, appropriating my wealth, treasures taken from two worms I slew with these hands. »
The dwarf raised both ethical and peeled palms, in recognition of his deeds, one truly real and the other pure wishful thinking of a mind in disarray. With growing indignation, the dwarf continued:
- "But I saw other things! He did not realize, but I spied His mirrors! I saw this treacherous man leading his rangers to conquer Mount Gram with the blessing of his Grey henchman, and defeat by virtue of an inheritance from my house! He stole me, I know! Let him be cursed to the third generation! All cursed! All thieves! »
For a long time the old dwarf crouched on his miserable bench, looking to escape an evil memory that tormented him:
- "Thief! Give it back! Give the ring back to Durin the deathless! You cannot claim it! You lie, it was never to You! You cannot... Dwalor, no! "
On Thraïn's blind pupils, danced the macabre souvenir of his last companion, constrained by the mere will of the new master of the ring of Durin, to cut his own throat. The miserable wretch remained prostrate a few moments, then:
- "You're not Dwalor! »
The emaciated hand reached through the heavy gate, touching Gandalf's beard stunned by the dwarf's last words. The wizard whispered:
- "Would you say that He took it back as if He claimed it a recovery? But ... did you not leave the last of the dwarven Rings to your heir?
- Thorin? My son! You must not fail! The honor of our house is on your shoulders, now. Beware of this wizard, he following his own schemes! The fortune of our lines is quite indifferent to him... But you'll need this... "
Then the old dwarf did a strange thing: his long wrinkled hands began to untie the strings of his dirty beard. Within moments, he had unveiled and released a small rolled parchment, and handed it across the bars:
- "This old fool was right, despite his cunning: it is necessary to eliminate the last of the great worms. And this is your own glory badge to look for. Receive Thror's map and the key to your grandfather secret passage. »
As if he had gotten rid of a huge load, Thràin sighed a few moments. Then, bringing together surprising strength, the dying dwarf suddenly reached out, grabbing the bars. But he was unable to get up. The old dwarf Thrain the second heir of Durin the dead, slumped dead at the door of his cell.
.oOo.
The wizard felt a strange mixture of relief and guilt. After all he did not need to help his old friend to join his ancestors. Gandalf crouched a moment, cradling the body with words of comforts and giving him a last greeting.
The folded parchment was an old dwarven map, wrapped around a small key. The wizard sighed, promising to hand this ultimate legacy to its rightful owner.
Then he straightened, wary and anxious. What he had just learned left him with an unacceptable doubt. Why did the necromancer claim He had once possessed the ring of Durin? To torture His spoiled victim?
.oOo.
NOTES
1 Cordial from Imladris, here from Lorien.