A Passage from Middle-earth
Chapter Nine: The Unforgivable Sin
With torches held aloft, the three Halflings pressed through the gloom before the starlight-silhouetted shadow of Mount Doom. Like a living thing, the gathering darkness hugged the edge of their illuminated ring, probing every brief flicker of the firelight. The shattered landscape was highly resistant to their determined flight, but they persevered nevertheless. The Wizard had been quite insistent about executing their passage in the most expeditious manner possible. And they were all still experiencing the effects of the last dosing with his magical ingredient. They could hardly wait to escape from the Land of Shadow anyway.
In their quest to obtain the remaining Rings of Men, they had been led inevitably closer to the dreaded ruin of Orodruin. Samwise was now closer to the Mountain of Fire than he had ever been since fleeing from its incinerating environs with Frodo after the unmaking of the One Ring. Uncontrollably, his eyes kept returning to the crypt where the remaining malice of Sauron slept.
It suddenly occurred to him that the Wizard might have had other reasons for insisting on such a speedy flight. There was no more magic with which to combat the paralyzing power of Mordor and Mount Doom. The leather pouch, in which the enchanted ingredient had been kept, now held the dubious rewards of their life-threatening labor. Once its invigorating effects ended, there would be nothing to empower the Ring Bearer except his own resilience. Unbidden images of Frodo's final frailty, as he basically crawled across those crags, came into the mind of Samwise.
Seeing that their friend was having difficulties, and wanting to make sure he would not stray into any of the surrounding pits, Merry and Pippin insisted that Samwise take the lead. This made it possible for both of them to watch him closely, and it allowed him to set the pace. Before long, he unsheathed the Elven blade. Soon, he was walking with a torch in one hand and Sting in the other. Every once in a while, he would swing the sword at something that was invisible to his companions. They carefully chose not to comment on this behavior, while making sure that their own personal trajectories did not carry them within his reckless range. They were increasingly uncertain of his sensibilities.
Finally, they were headed directly away from Orodruin. After a time, the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon behind them, casting their elongated shadows on the ashen plain before them. Samwise finally arrested his assault on the invisible; but his pace began to lag, as did his posture. Quite suddenly he stopped and stood erect as he got his first sight of the towers of Minas Ithil. One pinnacle in particular gleamed brightly as its precious-metal-covered surface reflected back the rays of the rising daystar. It looked like a giant, blazing cross.
"There it is, the Hope of the World!" cried Samwise; his eyes were overflowing with tears as he turned briefly towards his companions.
They could not be certain if the designation referred to the Tower of the Moon or, more specifically, to the burnished emblem. From his bizarre behavior, which they had witnessed as they crossed the Plain of Gorgoroth, it was quite evident to his friends that his perceptions were being altered by the proximity of Mount Doom. But they were hard-pressed to follow the newly revitalized Ring Bearer as Samwise abruptly bounded forward. Flinging their now unnecessary firebrands to the side, they dashed after him.
Minas Morgul had sprawled practically all the way across the Morgul Vale. The newly rebuilt Minas Ithil was fashioned more like Minas Tirith, backed up against the precipice on the northern side, thereby enclosing the Stairs of Cirith Ungol and raising its towers to a level that allowed them to overlook the Land of Shadow. Its soaring walls rose before the charging Halflings, yelling and laughing as they came. The Tower Guards greeted them with horn blasts. As they swept over the last interceding rise, they saw the formidable fortifications of the gateway as it was rolled aside to receive them.
Several figures strode out to greet them. And the three hobbits recognized the familiar forms of Arwen, Laurelin, and Gimli. But then, the members of the reception committee each turned suddenly. Following their gazes westward, the Halflings each realized that some kind of peculiar sound was emanating from that direction. To two of them, the ruckus became abruptly recognizable. And after an anxious few moments, Treebeard and the mounted forms of Faramir and Eorl turned the corner from South Ithilien and entered the Morgul Vale. Unaware of the trio in the distance, they headed very directly towards the entrance to the city. Forgetting their exhaustion, the hobbits rushed to intercept them.
It was a decidedly melancholy mood that prevailed over the reunion. Treebeard was coming from the decimation of Fangorn and Lothlorien and the loss of his brothers, the Ents. Faramir and Eorl had just told Thengel about the death of Lady Eowyn. And although Lord Gimli was clearly delighted to see the hobbits no matter how dire the circumstances, High Queen Arwen was obviously not happy to see the Steward. How anyone could weather such discontent from a face so fair was far beyond the Ring Bearer's ability to comprehend; yet, the Steward seemed altogether unruffled by the her rebuke.
"Were you not soundly charged with the defense of Minas Tirith, Steward?" she demanded with a very uncharacteristically icy tone. "I know of the loss you've suffered. And I am ill disposed toward discipline as a result. But more losses will surely follow if we begin to forsake our duties."
"I have neglected nothing," replied Faramir evenly, unknowingly imitating the tone of Arador in the ears of the hobbits. "The weapons, which Treebeard and I bring, have both been tested in combat against the Balrog. And it is here at Minas Ithil that the battle will be won or lost. If indeed it is lost; then Gurthang will hardly be enough to deliver the White City and Thengel will already be dead. It is fitting that the father should fall first, if we are truly fated to fall."
"I am certain the High King will have more to say on this matter," High Queen Arwen replied, sounding somewhat mollified. "But enter now into the city, Steward of Gondor."
Faramir saluted Lord Gimli and the Keeper as he rode by. But before Pippin could return the gesture, he and Merry were suddenly, and rather unceremoniously, scooped up into Treebeard's branching embrace. The voice of the Shepherd of the Forest was so filled with emotion that it was difficult to understand his words.
"Little Entings!" he cried, literally. "You are the only sprouts I have left to tend in this place of rock and stone!"
Being somewhat less familiar, Samwise was spared the melodramatic display. But his point of view allowed him to see the pain on the High Queen's face as the Ancient One evidenced his anguish. More moved was she by the emotions of the Ent, which stretched across innumerable centuries to an Elven dawn, than she had been even by Faramir and Eorl in grieving the death of Eowyn, her own close friend. The sorrow of Treebeard was far deeper. And even though she had chosen the path of mortality, a part of her still understood this only too well.
Within the courtyard, the Palantir was revealed. Nargurth was passing through the Dagorlad. In only a few minutes, he would engage the Armies of Gondor at Morannon. High Queen Arwen shifted the oracle's aim and it showed the advance of Elessar and the Cavalry of Gondor as they crossed the Pelennor Field. They were about to pass through Osgiliath and enter Ithilien. There was no way for them to turn north quickly enough to come to the aid of High Prince Telperion.
Accepting the hilt from the Wraith Slayer and the pouch from the Ring Bearer, Arwen had Gimli accompany her as she headed off to the smithy, leaving Laurelin in charge of the Palantir. Watching her go, the hobbits knew how difficult it had to be for her to abandon her vigil, even if it was in order to undertake the very necessary industry of manufacturing the Weapon. Her only son was about to be endangered by the same fiery foe that had nearly killed her husband and had exacted an unprecedented toll from the inhabitants of Middle-earth in an unbelievably brief time.
Seeing the growing panic on the faces of her guests, Laurelin softly said, "Fear not, my dear friends. The Black Gate no longer stands, but my brother will make Nargurth pay a high price for his admittance. And he will not underestimate this foe. My mother has made certain of that. There are to be no casualties in this skirmish, by royal decree. The only thing about which I'm uncertain is the manner of their retreat. The terrain does not lend itself to swift flight, as well you know."
"That's why Radagast stayed behind," the Keeper candidly commented. "And I fear for him most of all. The power he wields is almost beyond belief; and yet, it has its limits. And this is why he required our assistance, although we Halflings are surely the lowliest of all the inhabitants of Middle-earth."
"What a funny thing to say!" laughed Laurelin. "Surely you jest, Keeper, for you are fearfully and wonderfully made! The Creator has delighted in designing your kind in such a way that even those of great strength and stature would be doomed without your ministry! You are so blessed!"
Pippin could hardly be insulted by her chiding, not when it concluded with such a compliment. It seemed strange to be in the presence of one so insightful. It was like being ripped out of time and hurled back decades. He seemed to recall having been redressed by Elves on a number of occasions, always without recourse, although he was unable to remember any particulars. But to suddenly find that he was confronted with their timeless wisdom again made him feel both completely attuned to and totally disassociated from the world all at once.
Despite the fact that Laurelin was still looking at him, smiling sweetly, he understood that she was exercising innate abilities beyond his imaginings as his peripheral vision detected the shifting of the scene in the Seeing Stone. Radagast was revealed, moving northwards through the Valley of Udun. He had very nearly reached the Armies of Gondor at Morannon. Unbelievably, he smiled and waved as if he were actually aware of the supernatural surveillance. Pippin started to mimic the gesture, and then he saw the amused way the High Princess was looking at him. He sheepishly refrained.
The hobbits had become so occupied by the images in the Seeing Stone that they were not even aware of not having broken their fast. Since Laurelin was busy operating the oracle, and the Steward seemed uncertain of his situation, Faramir took charge of making sure everybody was fed. Eorl assisted. The steaming bowl of oatmeal that was suddenly thrust into his hand surprised Samwise. A crock of sugar was passed around, followed by a pitcher of cream. Laurelin raised her bowl towards heaven and gave thanks. And then, everyone ate.
Nargurth was still just beyond the range of the machines of war when High King Elessar and the Cavalry of Gondor rode into Minas Ithil. Eomer and the Riders of Rohan were with him. Bowls of hot cereal were also distributed among them. To Elessar's surprise, Arabel bolted and fled through the open gate as he unsaddled her. He had no choice but to let her go. Unpacking the Palantir, which had been given to him by Eowyn, he set up a second location for viewing the battle. Samwise hesitantly stood, and then he walked over to kneel next to Elessar.
"I don't remember where I heard this, if it was Gandalf or Radagast who said it, but I seem to recall that the Seeing Stones have the ability to show the future," Samwise softly suggested. And then he asked, "Can we look ahead to find out what's going to happen?"
"Only the Eldar are able to use the Palantiri in such a manner," answered Elessar, "for they are timeless themselves. I believe the High Queen retains this ability. But she will not hazard its use; nor would any of the Elves, not when it came to matters involving other races. They said it would be tempting fate. We must suffer these circumstances to play out as they will. And then we must summon the wisdom and courage to deal with the consequences, whatever befalls."
The batteries at Morannon suddenly opened fire. Although it put some of his men and their materials at greater risk, High Prince Telperion had elected to establish mortars on either side of the chasm. He knew it would be far more difficult for Nargurth to evade crossfire, and it would be increasingly so as he approached their positions. The first few projectiles only really declared the range of the weapons. But the second salvos were fired for effect.
The badly battered Balrog reluctantly retreated before the ballistic bombardment. Once the Fire Demon withdrew, the Great Eagles swiftly swept down and recovered some of the spent stone rounds. When it became clear to Nargurth that he was going to be pummeled again, even if he stayed where he was, he elected to present the operators with a rapidly moving, and yet meandering, target.
Surging suddenly forward, he sprinted several paces and then began to execute a circuitous, zigzagging route. This helped him to avoid direct aerial impacts, but he was struck by several of the rebounds and finally knocked to the ground. The Great Eagles hurried to take full advantage of his vulnerable prostration, releasing their boulders from above. He rolled to the side and tried to find some kind of shelter but was unable to do so. Before the next volley could be launched, he withdrew again.
Watching the scene in the Seeing Stone, Samwise wondered if Nargurth might abandon the approach through Morannon and bring his campaign to Minas Ithil. And he was uncertain of how this might upset their plans. But he was also very vague on the particulars of just exactly how the plan was supposed to dispose of the Balrog anyway. Radagast had insinuated that they were going to create a kind of sword. But he had also spoken to Arwen about some kind of delivery system, and this system somehow apparently involved a branch from the White Tree, Grond, and Treebeard.
The Ring Bearer had never been quite the fan of riddles that Frodo had been. And his mind, exhausted in the extreme, could not be forced to focus on the available data. The Enemy's image was all-engrossing as the bellowing behemoth evidenced his incandescence and charged again. Leaping from side to side, dive-rolling and changing directions as he came to his feet, the Balrog performed his dance of fire as he moved inevitably closer to the Mouth of Mordor. The catapults sang and the rebounding boulders rang as the firestorm swept southwards without being successfully accosted.
The closer Nargurth got to the batteries, the less time he had to react to the incoming salvos. And the decrease in range also eventually equaled an increase in accuracy as several speeding stones suddenly slammed into the specter in swift succession. Driven decisively into the dirt, the Fire Demon found that the rocky ridges in that area might yield a small amount of protection from the persistent pummeling; at least, they would make it difficult for the target to be struck dead on if he simply stayed low to the ground.
There was nothing he could do about the Great Eagles. But as quickly as he was moving, it was not possible for them to maintain any accuracy while trying to use altitude to accelerate their concussive contributions. The real danger was therefore the volleys of the machines of war. And if he could undermine their aim by crawling behind the ridges, he would simply have to accept the humiliation. Nargurth knew that their ammo simply could not last forever even if the Great Eagles tried to return the spent rounds to them, which could be a dangerous procedure just in itself.
But the Balrog had seriously underestimated the Elven intellect of his adversary. High Prince Telperion had foreseen the possibility of the Fire Demon resorting to such a tactic. Radagast and the hobbits had arrived too late to witness the establishment of the hyper-accurate firing grid that the High Prince and the operators of his batteries had established. They knew where those hiding places were and how to get at them.
High Prince Telperion used a series of gestures to instruct the operators to prepare to initiate their coordinated attack. Using his hunting horn, he then sounded a rhythmic series of blasts. On the last note, two of the war machines on opposite sides of the chasm fired simultaneously. Their boulders collided in midair directly over the huddled form of Nargurth, showering him with shards of stone shrapnel.
Telperion sent his archers forward. If Nargurth advanced over the ridge, rather than electing to wisely retreat, he would come within range of their bows. And then, every means of defense at the High Prince's command would be engaged. If there were any possibility of actually driving the Balrog back, it would have to happen here. Any such stand in the Morgul Vale would quite possibly put the city at risk. In truth, they had been relying on Nargurth deliberately avoiding the Tower of the Moon and choosing to attempt his entrance into Mordor at Morannon. If the Fire Demon elected now to alter the route to his objective, it would buy them a little more time. But that is all it would accomplish. It might easily be as much as they could hope to do just to defend the city.
Squirming in his discomfort, and plucking stone splinters from his scalding skin, the Balrog tumbled over the ridge. The High Prince ordered his archers to release their first volley while he instructed the operators of the machines of war to fire at will. If they were unable to kill Nargurth outright, or at least drive him back, the timing for abandoning their posts had now become critical. If there were any way he could possibly prevent it, Nargurth would not allow them to escape. He would burn them all alive.
A shower of sparks streamed into the air every time the firestorm was struck. At such close range, the reports of the impacts hurt even the ears of the operators. It seemed impossible in the extreme that anything could survive such an ordeal. High Prince Telperion kept expecting to see a dismembered appendage as the result of one of the collisions. But the Balrog continually rose to his flaming feet every time he was knocked to the ground. And incrementally, but undeniably, he continued to advance. It was almost as if the power of the Land of Shadow were compelling him forward.
The High Prince was suddenly aware of the Wizard standing at his side. But the expression in those emerald eyes was totally unreadable as he looked out upon the interminable torment that one of his own kind was being forced to endure. Telperion wondered if he was seeing pity or if it was merely concern for the ever-increasing severity of their situation. If the Balrog failed to succumb to their assault, they were going to have to move quickly. And the weighty responsibility for making that decision rested firmly on the shoulders of the High Prince.
Telperion hoped the enigmatic emissary in his garments of green would yield wise counsel in that matter. But as he followed the Wizard's worried gaze, he saw Nargurth suddenly produce his flaming sword and cleave a boulder right in two just before it could slam directly into him. Each of the smoldering halves skipped harmlessly across the rocky plain behind him, until one of them plunged noisily into a pit.
"This isn't working," said Radagast suddenly. "Get your people out of here."
The Wizard did not have to give that advice twice. Blowing the horn with all of his might, the High Prince sounded the retreat. The archers and the operators each released a final volley, as previously agreed, to help cover their withdrawal. And then, they abandoned their positions and the machines of war, fleeing westward towards the Harad Road. But the valiant volunteers, who were manning the hazardous positions on the eastern side of the chasm, had to circumvent its imposing enormity before they could even begin to effectively evacuate. And they caught the Balrog's attention.
"Archers, hold your positions!" cried the High Prince. "Defend your countrymen!"
The bow-bearing soldiers spun swiftly around, filling the air with a cloud of arrows. Nargurth was struck repeatedly. Since the chasm separated him from most of the defenders, there was no option for attacking them instead. And since it was abundantly clear that he had won the contest and that the Armies of Gondor were withdrawing, he could easily afford to fall back and give them the illusion of safety before suddenly coming upon them from behind. Since the entrance to the Land of Shadow now lay undefended, he could engage in the dalliance of destroying those who had tried to deny him access.
Nargurth fell back, allowing the remaining soldiers to slip around the edge of the chasm and join their retreating ranks. It would have been simpler, thought the Fire Demon, for them to have withdrawn into the Valley of Udun. And he did not understand their obvious predisposition to the contrary, although it would have been awfully condescending of them to make it possible for him to kill them without having to temporarily abandon his pilgrimage to Mordor. He knew that far too many years had passed since its soil had been saturated with saintly blood. And life would yet find a foothold there if something preemptive were not done very soon. He fully intended to remedy that situation, dragging some of his bleeding victims behind him as he made his final approach to Mount Doom.
He could smell the fear of the soldiers as they rushed to desert the defenses. Elves would have stayed and fought, he thought. And he momentarily mourned the apparent absence of the Eldar; not because he had any love for them, but because they could survive more excruciating torture than human beings. And he wanted to inflict the kind of pain he had just received.
All the way across Dagorlad, he had wondered when someone would venture close enough to harass him with arrows and spears; although all he could see awaiting him were Gondor's machines of war at Morannon where the Black Gate used to stand. But beyond its ruins now stretched the Valley of Udun, the Mouth of Mordor. The Morgai framed its western side. And on its north and stretching eastwards were the Ash Mountains, the Ered Lithui. Together with the Ephel Duath, the Mountains of Shadow, they completely enclosed all but the south-easternmost side of the Black Land. The defenders knew far better than to retreat into those fatal confines. To pass within the ravenous ruins of Udun was to invite death. Its gaping pits would either trap or swallow them. And it went without saying that their flaming foe would be at home within such hellish borders.
Nargurth had been gratified when he saw that the Armies of Gondor initially held their positions. He had been hoping that they would stand against him and fight to the death, something he was expert at dealing out. He brandished his sword at the fleeing forms, willing his fire to run along its blade as he showed them the fell instrument with which he intended to expose and ignite their innards. To his intense disappointment, but not to his surprise, they continued to sprint to the side, seeking to go south along the Harad Road. Laughing out loud, he watched them go. But then, he was surprised to find that the pass was not completely deserted.
A lone figure stood in the gap. Although this individual wore the shape of a man, Nargurth sensed that he was a Maia. But he was clearly one of the lesser of the Maiar. The Balrog briefly wondered if now, when the accomplishment of his objective was clearly inevitable, this minor being would offer his allegiance and plead for deliverance from the coming death. The Fire Demon considered just how amusing it would be to listen to his entreaties, perhaps even feigning interest, before dispatching him suddenly. No such assistance was required. Unbelievably, the audacious envoy made no such anticipated overture.
"Fool!" shouted Nargurth, his ashen breath billowing forth like molten malice. "Have you remained in Middle-earth only to perish, you pathetic puppet of the pitiful Powers?"
"The music of Melkor has long since ended," Radagast rejoined, rebuking him in reply. "Why do you persist in singing his sad old songs?"
"You are but an echo of themes that are foreign to this land," the Balrog bellowed. "The Ainur have never held sway in this country; save for he whom you should not dare to name, thou green glowworm! Beyond the Walls of the World he now resides, but the music of the Maiar remains. And the final melody shall be mine!"
"I too was there when Eru gave us the Song of Creation," the Wizard replied. "And I don't remember it ending that way. Nor do I appear before you to help craft any such conclusions, but only to share a simple tune."
"From one of such lackluster hue as yourself," Nargurth spitefully conceded, "simple it would have to be indeed! Very well then, sing for my amusement before you burn. But the final phrase will belong to me, and my words are made of fire! In the Lifeless Void you will shortly be; for in my song, you expire!"
Radagast smiled, as if truly amused by the Fire Demon's rhyme. Nargurth marked just how ridiculously pleasant the opponent appeared, as if he had no idea that he was about to die. But then, the curiously green-clad contender opened his mouth and sang something nonsensical in the extreme. If Nargurth had but known him as Bombadil the Brown, who had once sung silly jingles with hobbits when not directing the forces of nature with Songs of Power, perhaps he might have understood that the tune was only an introduction to the incantation. Oddly, it seemed to Nargurth as if he could hear more than one voice. But he assumed the impossible harmony to be an effect caused by their proximity to the mountains. Deftly swinging the stringed instrument from around his back, and then delicately fingering his lute, Radagast sang:
Gorgoroth in Green
The Duel of Radagast and Nargurth
First Movement
Li di de di
di de di
di de da-hi
Li di de di
li de di
Li de di
Li de di
Li di de di
di de di
di de da-hi
Li di de di
li de di
Li de di
Li de di
"Do you hope then to overpower me through idiocy?" Nargurth demanded. "Surely you are one of the insolent Istari! You'd do well to quickly compose the words to your melody, so I can sear them as your epitaph into the sizzling stones with which I will curtly cover your charred carcass! I will soon reduce your imbecilic arrogance to ash!"
Swathing himself in flame, the Fire Demon evidenced his inferno. But Radagast shoved the end of the budding green Staff, which had been hooked in the crook of his arm, into the barren earth, playing the lute with force, as he continued:
Long have you slept
and been kept
under Shadow
Don't you know
you can grow?
Make it so!
Come alive!
Reach toward the Light
Feel its might
pulse within you
As I sing
rise and cling
Fire subdue
as you thrive!
Suddenly snaking out of the ragged ravines all around him, a proliferation of plant life burst forth from the seemingly sterile soil surrounding Nargurth. Although ostensibly innocuous on any other occasion, it was instantly obvious that the fast-forming foliage was responding to Radagast. And conflagrating on contact with the furious firestorm in their midst somehow did not dissuade the decidedly determined diurnals from their accelerated advance. Although the brambles burned as they wrapped around him, while Nargurth stood stunned, others promptly replaced them. And the newcomers raced across the hot ash of their charred kindred as if somehow nourished by the remains. The powder, which was the product of the burnt vines, was forming an insulating residue around the flaming form, enabling additional entanglement.
Slashing with his sword and swinging his fiery whip at the encircling encroachment, Nargurth suddenly realized that the Great Eagles had descended and were waiting for him to be rendered helpless enough for them to attack with impunity. Radagast was repeating the nonsensical chorus to his song, capering about as if his antics were in some way encouraging the propagation.
Flailing his flaming whip around his own body in order to conflagrate the climbing creepers, Nargurth began swinging his sword around in the air to ward off the Great Eagles as Radagast launched into yet another set of verses:
Fear not the flame
that's the same
as the Shadow
Overcome
by your sum
As you grow
quench its Night
Grasp that which burns
so it turns
back to Shadow
Wrap around!
Pull it down
as you grow
toward the Light!
The landscape abruptly erupted with an even more determined invasion of undergrowth. The leaves angled like satellite dishes toward the overhead sun, drawing forth the necessary strength with which to accost the enveloped inferno. Realizing that if he failed to do so he might soon be overcome, Nargurth began to methodically move forward. But he was forced to slash and burn to accomplish every step of his progress. And all the while he had to be mindful of the tearing talons of the Great Eagles, circling uncomfortably close and eagerly awaiting any opportunity to attack.
As the Balrog painstakingly approached the position of Radagast the Green, the Wizard was forced to remove his Staff and fall back. The relentless propagation of the plant population was temporarily interrupted as Radagast retreated, but Nargurth still had to contend with the ridiculous resilience of the interposing plant life that had already assembled. And although his progress was significantly slowed, he stepped at last into the Valley of Udun. By the time he did so, he discovered that the Wizard had fallen back nearly to Isenmouthe at the far end of the valley. Their contest had moved into Mordor proper, a situation that Nargurth hoped to use to his advantage. He was not without powerful incantations of his own.
But the Wizard thrust the end of his budding Green Staff into the barren ground of the Black Land, swung his lute around, and took up a new theme. The harmonizing voice was unmistakably present as he sang:
Gorgoroth in Green
The Duel of Radagast and Nargurth
Second Movement
Hear my song!
Grow up fast and strong!
Hold the fire at bay!
Draw your strength from
the Light of Day!
Form a wall
thick and green and tall!
Weave your boughs of vine
as you reach, grasp,
and intertwine!
Feel the Creator's love
strengthen your being
as you wake to the magic of
what I sing!
Udun exploded with verdant vitality. It looked like the flowering of hell itself. The Balrog of Morgoth could scarcely believe it. It was as if long centuries of denied growth were suddenly being released from within the tortured topography of the ravaged realm. And it quickly closed around him, forcing him to emit his fire again in order to advance. He was beginning to realize that, since this challenge was with the promulgation of plants rather than with Radagast himself, there was a chance of the Wizard actually outlasting him. He was not yet far enough inside the Black Land to really effectively use the power of the place. The thorns of the blazing brambles sought to tear at his flaming form, but he continued to push his way through the unbelievably vigilant vegetation. A flute appeared in the Wizard's other hand. And he somehow managed to evoke music from both instruments as he continued to sing, building on the energetic second theme:
Hold your ground!
Let no path be found!
Make the way grow closed
so no passage
can be imposed!
So conspire
to extinguish fire!
Let no flame break through!
Use the Light
to empower you!
Feel the Creator's love
strengthen your being
as you wake to the magic of
what I sing!
Struggling for every inch of advancement, Nargurth finally managed to blaze a trail, literally, all the way to the middle of the valley. With a sense that was beyond human perception, he could now feel the presence of Orodruin, Mount Doom. The time had come for him to make a stand and show his unworthy opponent what real power looked like.
Swinging his whip around his head, in order to hold the Great Eagles at bay, he pointed his sword at the smoldering specter in the distance and uttered a fell saying. Such words had not been spoken in that part of Middle-earth for an age of the world. But the malevolent mountain remembered and responded. The landscape trembled as the volcano angrily awakened. Ash-laden smoke belched forth from fiery depths, spilling into the atmosphere and stretching out all around it, choking off the sunlight. The Valley of Udun fell beneath the steadily expanding shadow. And there was a distinct pause in the persistent proliferation of plant life.
But Radagast the Green was ready. Seizing his Staff and stretching it towards the cumbersome clouds, he sang a new song. And the lute continued to accompany him, though he now held it in only one hand. Repeatedly changing the meter, he tricked the storm into responding to his will as he sang:
Gorgoroth in Green
The Duel of Radagast and Nargurth
Third Movement
Rain, rain, rain, rain
Rain, rain, rain, rain
Dark evil cloud
hear my refrain
Fill now the air you touch
with soft rain
Fear not, you plants,
though sunlight wanes
Draw now the strength you need
from the rains
As the raindrops fall
drink them in; grow tall
Use the moisture
to make green what was brown
Grow up faster now
as the rain comes down
Rain, rain, rain, rain
Rain, rain, rain, rain
As if in response to some kind of chemical reaction, an intensified escalation in the growth of the plant life immediately resulted. And for a moment, it looked as if Nargurth had made a critical error and would be inescapably overwhelmed. The stalks, shoots, and even the leaves seemed to visibly swell as they apparently absorbed the prodigious precipitation. All that could be seen of the Balrog was the desperately swinging sword, moving in smoldering circles as it thrust through the top of the vegetation's ardent explosion. And the rain was helping the plants smother Nargurth's incessant inferno.
But the power of the Black Land and Mount Doom were fully at the disposal of the servant of the Great Enemy. And the nature of the ashen cloud, which the Wizard had so effectively used to produce his rain shield, could not be denied. As Nargurth continued his dark incantations, the rain became acidic. The plants began to wilt before its onslaught. And although it looked as if it should not have been possible, somehow Radagast deftly deployed Glamdring just in time to deflect the volley of lightning bolts that were also unleashed by the horrid heavens. The Elven blade glittered green in the fading electrical sheen.
Retuning the lute to its position on his back, although it somehow continued to play, he took up his Staff and signaled one of the nearer of the Great Eagles. Plunging through the now ghastly gale, it quickly plummeted towards its intended passenger. It compensated for the posture of the Wizard as it swept him from the ground and whisked him in the direction of Minas Ithil, because Radagast the Green now bowed before the overpowered plants as he sang:
Go back to sleep in the earth
Wait for the Time of Rebirth
One Day you'll hear a new song
Then you'll arise and grow strong
One Day the Creator will this landscape redeem
It will again know and be blessed by your emerald gleam
One Day the memory of the Shadow will fade
But I, Radagast the Green, thank you for all your aid!
Nargurth, feeling vindicated, listened with relief to its fast fading polyphony as the Wizard's voice, with its troubling twofold-tone, disappeared into the distance along with the last note of his song. The imprisoning plant life was now fleeing before his flame, melting like wax before his angry incandescence. The already vile valley of Udun was now choked with putrid plant matter. But the plain of Gorgoroth stretched unhindered before him. The path to Mount Doom, and perhaps even the doom of all Middle-earth, now lay open. As the last of the rancid rainfall sizzled into steam on his smoldering skin, Nargurth followed in the footsteps of Sauron, hastening to retrieve the ruin of that malevolent minion of Morgoth.
Putting Durthang over his right shoulder and Isenmouthe at his back, the victorious Flame of Udun finally took flight. The overwhelming vehemence of the thundering mountain, along with the Fire Demon's mastery over the storm's electrical assault, had finally dismissed the defenders. No power remained to deter him from his goal. On wings of fiery rage, Nargurth crossed above the Land of Shadow.
Like a warren of wrath the nightmarish mountain received him as if he were its own flaming fledgling, the awful offspring of its own molten malice. As he stepped into that fortress of foulness, he knew that naught of Sauron's power, of which it was the evil repository, would Orodruin deny.
But the Great Eagle speedily swept southwestward toward Minas Ithil. No other inhabitant of the air could excel the Lords of the Sky for swiftness in flight. In what seemed like mere moments, the rising rock ramparts of the rebuilt fortress vaulted into visibility above the ice-encrusted crests of the interposing Mountains of Shadow. As he approached from above, Radagast was sure that the outcome of his confrontation with Nargurth had been observed and that everybody was now preparing for the upcoming conflict, perhaps the last chance for the Light to finally extinguish the Darkness that was yet present in Middle-earth.
As the Great Eagle bore Radagast away from the battle, the High Princess quickly escorted the hobbits out of the courtyard. There were preparations to be made. And she knew the Halflings would only be in the way; but more so than that, she also understood that their part in the conflict was now concluded, and after difficult industry and a valiant victory.
"You must be exhausted," she softly said as she led them up into the embattled bastion. "There is little extra room. All of the walled cities are filled nearly to capacity; even this one, despite its proximity to Mordor and the fact that we fully expect Nargurth to strike us first. But my brother's room is not occupied. If you don't mind sharing it, you should all be quite comfortable. And I will see that you are awakened before the city is besieged. But take no thought of that for now. It is by the counsel of Radagast that you have been safely brought thus far. And it is that which also guides our every action in this time of desperate need."
"You are very kind, my Lady the High Princess," said Merry haggardly, looking as if he could collapse at any moment as they paused before the indicated doorway.
Glancing at the exhausted Esquire, Laurelin's Elven empathy told her that her presence had reminded him of someone else. And she felt the depth of his sorrow, greater than that which she had perceived in anyone else for that lamentable loss, save Faramir and Eorl; or, perhaps, Gimli.
Making themselves almost absurdly at home, the hobbits very unceremoniously shrugged off their backpacks and slung accessories as soon as they entered the majestic chambers. The Ring Bearer's backpack struck the stone floor with such force that it opened, spilling its contents. A big, rectangular object caught the attention of the High Princess. She quickly stooped and retrieved it before Samwise was even aware of its discovery.
"There and back again, a hobbit's tale by Bilbo Baggins," she immediately read aloud. "And the Lord of the Rings by Frodo Baggins. You've been carrying this all along?"
"It isn't finished," Samwise awkwardly explained, slurring his words in his weariness. "When Frodo gave it to me, he told me there was room for a little more and that the last pages where for me. I had no idea he might be referring to something like this. If he did, I guess I can see why he didn't say anything. But after we conclude this business with the Balrog, I guess I'm going to have to finally finish the thing."
"And then," she quietly replied, "the Record of the Ring Bearers will finally be complete, and your tenure in Middle-earth will be satisfied."
She held his gaze for several moments, but Samwise quite deliberately did not respond. And his companions were already unconscious. She quietly excused herself and left them to sleep. It was very evident to her that her words had indicated nothing unknown to the Ring Bearer. Such perceptiveness, in a member of a race whose origin was unknown, was a thing that had occupied her mind ever since their meeting. And that was even before he had won the distinction of slaying Shelob.
Emerging from the spacious quarters, which were located in one of the soaring towers, she happened to glance through a nearby window. The High Prince's chambers were adjacent to the upper courtyard where another of the renowned White Trees of the King grew atop Minas Ithil. The Great Eagle was depositing Radagast the Green there just as she looked out. She hurried to greet the Wizard, noting that others were already waiting to receive him. And she heard what the Great Eagle said to the Green Wizard, although she had no idea how she was able to understand its words.
"Farewell," it said, "wherever you fare, until your eyrie receives you at your journey's end."
"May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks," Radagast replied with a bow, turning then to the High King.
"The Armies of Gondor and the life of my son were surely spared through your intercession," said Elessar, "even if you were finally unable to overcome the evil Maia. I am very grateful for all that you've done thus far. But now, Nargurth has reached his goal. And none of us comprehend how exactly you mean to finally defeat him, although the blending of the required elements has already begun. And the hilt, which we received from Merry, is ready to accept the new blade."
"Arwen, Gimli, and I will forge the blade for the Weapon," Radagast explained. "In truth, it is really a sword. But it will become the tip of a great arrow. I'm afraid we will have to use a branch from the White Tree for its shaft. The hands of the Balrog won't be able to find any purchase on its enchanted bark in order to extract it. And the Great Eagles are providing the tail feathers for its stabilization. Treebeard will need to convert Grond into a crossbow to execute the delivery. The Dwarves may aid him in that effort."
"But we ignore a potential peril," Elessar objected. "This Balrog can fly. Always before, when one of the Fire Demons was defeated, it was first deprived of that ability. When Ecthelion slew the Lord of the Balrogs, Gothmog, he succeeded in wounding him in such a way that he could not fly. So it was that he too died when they fell from the precipice together. The one that Gandalf fought had its wings torn to shreds by an impact with an underground ocean. Your Weapon may indeed be capable of killing this foe. But we will have only one shot. And if Nargurth can evade it in the air, we cannot hope to succeed. I do however have a plan."
The High King had been approaching the White Tree as he spoke. And he looked sidelong at High Queen Arwen as he prepared to introduce his risky suggestion. But he also unsheathed Anduril, pursing his lips as he raised his eyes and regarded the White Tree, trying to decide which of its majestic limbs to sacrifice. He paused.
"And unto what dreadful danger are you now determined to submit yourself, my love?" asked Arwen with uncharacteristic and unconcealed anger.
"An ambush on Orodruin," answered Elessar, turning to confront her challenging gaze, "the one place where Nargurth believes himself unassailable. But I can only be certain of one strike, so I will need someone to accompany me. And we will need the Great Eagles to rescue us from the aftermath of our attack. I had thought to ask you, Wizard, for Glamdring is surely sufficient for such a campaign. Perhaps I will need you to loan it to Legolas if the Steward will not yield his sword. I of course will use Anduril."
As he concluded, he finally made his selection and swung the sword will all his might. The detached branch came away cleanly from the trunk of the White Tree. But Anduril, the Flame of the West, shattered into fragments. The spinning shards looked like snowflakes as they fell to the stone floor of the courtyard, reflecting the light of the now late morning sun and the anguish in the eyes of the High King. Elessar sagged, falling to his knees before the dismembered White Tree as he convulsively clutched the hilt of the sword. Tears flowed from his unbelieving eyes.
Fearing Elessar's ire, Faramir had been standing silently throughout these proceedings. He now said, "It is not within the purview of the High King to require the surrender of an heirloom. If Radagast will lend you his sword, my liege, then I will accompany you. Or perhaps you will send Arador in your stead and appease the very reasonable concerns of the High Queen. But for my part, I do not fear death. Nor will I be deprived of the right to prepare this adversary for his fall in very much the same way as Merry made it possible for my beloved to slay her evil opponent."
High King Elessar's answer was not immediate, for the regent turned his anguished attention on Radagast, demanding, "How in the world could this happen? Has the One Ring already been remade? What power has the ability to tear asunder such an icon?"
"The greatest difficulty we will ever confront has nothing to do with the power of an adversary; it is our own faithlessness, or faith we have placed in the wrong things," the Wizard replied. "There was never any power in that shaft of Elven steel, cleverly wrought though it was, greater than that of its wielder. Once you were a Ranger, with little at hand. But you believed in the strength of your linage. Now you have sat upon a thrown for many long years, with precious little in the way of fell deeds by which to demonstrate the anointing of your regency. It is time again for you to begin to truly believe in yourself. And you must also believe in those who serve with you. For it is only by their strength as well that Nargurth can be vanquished. Anduril was willing to pass into legend in order to fulfill its purpose. And so must you honor all those who stand willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. Your true weapons are those who serve with you. Do not hinder them from being used to their greatest advantage. And though you have not asked it of me, I freely make the offer. My blade would be honored to be involved in your enterprise."
Elessar arose. He strode toward Radagast and accepted the gift of Glamdring. Promising to return it, he turned to Arwen, saying, "I cannot send another in my stead. But I will return to you."
"Never have you broken your word, Elfstone," she replied, using the Westron pronunciation that she normally reserved for moments of intimacy. "I have always believed in you, even when others might have said you didn't believe in yourself. Know that my faith in you is boundless and borrow from its strength, thereby may I be assured of your return."
"Then be assured, Elven Queen," he said softly, kissing her. He also paused to embrace the High Princess. And then, he turned to Faramir, "When you speak of not fearing death, you sound just like my cousin and a true heir of Numenor. The Faithful have always understood that death is not a curse but a gift from the Creator. It is the final cure for the weariness of the world. Although they feigned otherwise, I believe the Elves were often jealous of our mortality. But Legolas already has been selecting timbers for his final crossing, and I cannot deny him the opportunity to accomplish that passage without the use of a ship!"
The Steward laughed. It was the first time any of them had heard anything like the sound of mirth from Faramir since Fangorn. And then, he asked, "So, will you then yet require my sword and without me to wield it?"
"Your brother, Boromir, was part of our Fellowship," Elessar softly answered. "He would not have withheld anything from one of its members. In fact, he made the ultimate sacrifice in its service. And I know, although you would rather undertake this errand yourself, that I can expect you to do no less than he would himself."
"You were saving my city while I was unconscious. And I know you'd have fallen in Boromir's defense if only opportunity had allowed," said the Steward as he unfastened Gurthang and gave the sword to Legolas. "May this serve you well."
Turning to the Green Wizard, Elessar said, "We'll need transportation to Orodruin."
Radagast relayed the regent's request to the Great Eagles. A number of them had gathered along the parapet to make a donation of feathers. After their many fruitless attempts to deprive Nargurth of his ability to fly, the opportunity to deliver and safeguard the strike-force, which would finally accomplish that laudable ambition, was cause for excitement.
Since not even Radagast knew how long it would take Nargurth to accomplish his evil deed, assuming the Balrog was successful, it was decided that the assault team should take supplies for at least a few days. While the provisions were being packed, High Princess Laurelin approached Steward Faramir, very conscious of the fact that he was her father-in-law. She softly touched his shoulder, in order to get his attention, and inadvertently startled him.
When he turned to face her, she said, "I have learned one thing from the Elves. And perhaps it's something that will serve you now. For I have been taught, and do truly believe, that love is far greater than anything else – even death."
"Thank you, High Princess," he replied, bowing.
And then, all was ready. High King Elessar apprehensively approached the eagerly awaiting Great Eagles, and Legolas followed. Giving careful attention to the Wizard's instructions, they climbed aboard the feathery forms. Moments later, they were airborne. It simply was not possible to watch the receding scene behind them as they soared off into the somber sky. Their complete concentration was required in order for them to remain mounted.
Orodruin approached. Flashes of light through the massive doorway, which led into the heart of Mount Doom, revealed that some form of industry was being undertaken in its inner chambers. The Great Eagles deposited Elessar and Legolas on the ridge above the yawning doorway, the entrance to the Sammath Naur, which had remained even after Mount Doom erupted in response to receiving back the One Ring; and then, they climbed to altitude to keep watch. The High King and the Last Elf in Middle-earth quickly maneuvered down to a vantage point from which they could launch their sneak attack; and then, they settled in for the unknown duration. Although they knew what was happening in the incinerating enclosure beneath their feet, they had no idea how it was being carried out.
Meanwhile, Nargurth separated his Dark Fire from his Shroud of Shadow, revealing an incandescent individual. It was this fiery figure that confronted the conflagration of the chasm. And while the materialization of his Shadow hovered like a brooding cloud in the upper reaches of the rock room; the bright, nearly blood-red being waded out into the luminous lava. No other living manifestation could have withstood such interaction with the incendiary. But the Balrog of Morgoth was in his own appalling element. Evidencing his own internal inferno, he opened his mouth and sang:
One Ring to Rule Them All
(The Song of Nargurth)
Three Rings for the Elven Kings under the sky
Seven for the Dwarf Lords in their halls of stone
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie
And Nargurth, Lord of the Rings, am I
Now die!
The Balrog reached out and began to manipulate the flaming surface around him, forming it into a kind of collection vessel. As he did so, he continued to intone his incantation:
First I take some malice,
then mix it with some ire,
formed into a chalice
made of molten fire
Then I draw into it
all the lingering force
of the Dark Lord of the Rings
from his form divorced
Sauron, you will serve me now
and so prove your worth
as you served our Master once,
Melkor Belegurth
Hearken to the words I sing
Yield now to my will
I'll remake your Master Ring
And then we will kill!
Addressing the enormity of Orodruin itself, Nargurth waved his flaming, free hand. Streams of radiant energy began to ooze from the recesses of the expansive inferno, snaking insidiously into the glowing goblet in his other hand, held at the level of the pyrogenic pool. As he conducted the revolting reconstruction, he drew from the reservoir of his repulsive power, hovering in the smoke-filled chamber above, to supplement the Dark Lord's diminished force. Through that malevolent mixture, he was able to supply what otherwise would have been lacking. And in his vile vessel the One Ring began to take shape as he sang:
All the force of the mountain
obey my command
Send now forth as a fountain
straight into my hand
all the power remaining
of the Ruling Ring
Soon now I will be reigning
over everything!
Raising the receptacle from the flaming surface, Nargurth excitedly examined its contents. The One Ring lay there, fully formed, its inscription shining brightly. Plucking it from the mouth of his evil instrument, he held it aloft. His laughter sounded little like amusement but far more like sadism as he sang:
Three Rings for the Elven Kings under the sky
Seven for the Dwarf Lords in their halls of stone
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie
And Nargurth, Lord of the Rings, am I
Now die!
And then, he put it on. The Mountain of Fire bucked beneath the feet of the men who were waiting to waylay him. And they knew not the cause but guessed at its evil implications. Power surged through the Balrog of Morgoth, beyond anything he had ever known or even expected. His victorious voice reverberatingly rang as he concluded:
Fire and Darkness unite
in my infinite might!
O the wrongs I'll make right!
Letting the goblet fall back into the inferno from which it had been forged, he flexed the dark power around him, reveling in its resonant response. He then picked up his weapons and turned towards the arching doorway. Night was falling on the world outside. If he had his way, there were many for whom the dawn would now never come.
