I want to take a minute to thank all of my faithful readers and reviewers, you make it worth my time to write and share my stories. Classes are starting back on the 7th so, look to the updates being slower again. Hopefully I can make this chapter last!
Chapter 25
There pass through the Blue Mountains was a long and treacherous one. Here the blood elves had no secret mountain pass, dwarves still inhabited deep within their depths. Some days they kept to the base, others they had to climb, the path was crooked and narrow, difficult even for the agility of the elves; many times Túrante found herself beside Gandalf. She worried for the old wizard. Maiar he may be, but he held a human body, a human body that was exposed to the chills and death of the mountains. She tried to keep them to the mountains, the weather fared better farther away from the Forodwaith.
She counted them lucky, they had not had an encounter with so much as a fly on since leaving the confines of the hidden tunnel, and it worried her. Much of the old lands where desolate now, but still held wildlife, if not people, even on the west side. The dwarves had to have food, yet where was it? Their luck could not last much longer.
"How long must we linger in this forsaken land?" Elladen asked, misery written across his face.
"This is nothing Master Elladen, we are but on the edge of the northern waste. Actually we are close to the old city of Belegost, a few dwarves remain hence since the recovery of Erebor." She replied. To her knowledge, they had not been harmed, yet no sign or sound of them had she encountered yet.
"Any relation to Gimli?" Elrohir asked, he had been working to make friends with the dwarf, as Legolas had and the two were almost always together.
"That I do not know, his father Gloin, was part of Thorin and company, yet if he stayed in Erebor after the mountain was retaken, I know not, nor of where they hailed from other than he was of Durin's folk."
She could hear Thranduil muttering behind them, clearly remembering his encounter with the group from not so many years ago. She had to smile at the thought of little Bilbo Baggins sneaking them all out. Túrante had laughed out loud when Gimli shared that part the tale of his father and their journey. And then she heard it, the sound she had feared—the clanging of metal against metal—there was a battle. She raised her hand and everyone stopped.
She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath of air, not vampires, she thought, orcs. That was somewhat of a relief; they were easier to deal with and to kill than the second option. She did not have to catch a scent to know who they fought; it would be the dwarves of the Blue Mountains.
Without a word she took to the sky , barely skimming the tree tops until she was within seeing distance of the battle a few miles off. They were holding their own, but the orcs greatly outnumbered them. She was torn in her decision, as the men could not be left alone too long, but she could not let the dwarves get slaughtered, which they would eventually.
Sighing, she turned to go back to the men. It would be wrong to not tell them what she was doing, and as Elladen and Elrohir so kindly pointed out, her in a battle without a witness and multiple dead bodies did not look good to a certain Elven king they had in their company. However, her trip was short lived, for her own party was charging toward the battle. Túrante wanted to be angry but she just couldn't do it, she could however speed up the twin's trip, they were leading the charge.
She dropped in beside them, "How about a short flight?" she grinned evilly, ready for battle.
They looked at one another, smiled, and clapped hands, which she took as a yes as she snatched them by their tunics and took back to the skies not looking at the faces of the others, who no doubt were not happy. The twins hooted and hollered through the sky.
In no time at all she had them over the fray and dropped them in the middle of a swarm of orcs, not her best judge of distance, but it took the orcs by surprise and gave them ample time to cut down many before the foul beast could react. Then she dropped down with them, twin blades, glistening in the sun.
The orcs around her stopped confused. They could feel her power, but they could feel the evil that created her as well, as they were also creatures made of the same evil. Túrante gave them little time, swinging her blades wide she cut down the closest creature, sending the others into a panic.
Once they got control over themselves, they put up more of a fight, but very little. She took time to look for the others, they should be coming into the clearing soon. And sure enough, as she blocked the blow of an oncoming orc, she heard the elves yelling as they made their appearance, taking even the dwarves by surprise.
One of the dwarves had gotten knocked down in his shock, and the foul things were taking their advantages, no one would get there in time. Turning she landed a kick into the orc she was facing, sending him flying a few hundred feet into the side of the mountain, not needing to check to see if he was dead before she threw her blades with a satisfied smile as they both landed in the backs of the orcs surrounding the fallen dwarf, it also gave her time to get there and slay the remaining ones—they never saw what hit them.
She offered a hand to the dwarf, his yellow beard, matted with blood and dirt and wary green eyes staring into her own. He took it gingerly, the coldness jerking him out of his surprise.
"Thank you," he said more out of respect for a woman than actual meaning she thought.
"Do not thank me yet master dwarf, the battle is yet to be over."
She reached down, pulling her swords blackened with blood from the carcasses, and entered the battle once more. It ended quickly after their arrival, much to her pleasure, however, now their trip would be delayed that much more. It made her heart heavy, but looking back at her companions, they were weary, even if they would not show it or admit it, and she could see it. There was hardness in their walk; they had to put just a bit more effort into it each day, even the young ones were being drained, the lembas was all that kept them strong, here all hope seemed gone and the chance of victory seemed so distant to them, and the way only got worse, they need to recuperate, and hopefully now, the dwarves would show hospitality. She did not hold that too much hope.
They drew no weapons on them, surprisingly, as they approached the group and elves and a wizard. The leader of the group stepped forth, "I am Boir, son of Beldar, Lord of the old kingdom of Belegost. I thank you for your help." They all nodded in reply, without saying a word. He was rather tall for a dwarf. His hair a deep rich gold, and beard braided in many stands reached down to the girdle of his belt. His face was old, but there was strength still and many years of life. He was somehow related to the one she helped on the field of battle, his son maybe. "I mean not be rude, but I would ask why you have come so close to our borders? These are strange times, and travelers so far north are a rarity indeed."
"We are on a long journey, one I fear we have not the time to tell." Gandalf replied, leaning on his staff, lips in a tight line.
"The same task as the other party you had pass through no doubt?" Boir asked.
"I beg your pardon?" Túrante raised an eyebrow, not sure what the dwarf was implying.
"I may be old but my eyes work well enough, I know of the wizard Gandalf and from the robes of the elves, they are lords. The first group held the lords of men and one of my own kin. If it were not for that, I should have detained them and if not for the strange happenings of late believed them insane."
"Gimli Aragorn, and…the others?" she almost spoke his name, before she caught sight of the king of Mirkwood in her peripheral vision, "They came through here? They are safe?" Her voice was hopeful as she looked on the large dwarf, eyes large.
"Aye, they were when they left four days prior, now I could not say. However I shall offer you the same courtesy I offered my kin and his companions." Túrante noted how he put Gimli as their leader, but said nothing, just chuckled silently to herself. "I offer my home for you to wash and rest until you feel ready to depart in gratitude of your help on this day." He was gruff and she could tell not all that pleased and wary of her by the way his eyes always darted to her, narrowed, but she worried not about it, they had shelter and a safe resting spot for a few days.
She bowed slightly to the Dwarf lord, "Many thanks My Lord Boir, the courtesy of your hall shall not be forgotten." She laid on the praise thickly, but it seemed to work, she watched as he hid a smile and stood a bit straighter in their midst.
"We have not the time to tarry longer; we have wasted enough time as it is." Thranduil practically spat, the dwarf lord eyeing him through narrowed slits, not impressed.
"We have been granted the hospitality of the dwarves in time when we all are in need of rest for our weary souls; it would be stupid to decline their most gracious invitation, My Lord." Her voice was low; she tried hard to restrain herself from letting the words sound like the venom they tasted like in her mouth. It was hard to remain calm in the presence of the woodland king, he tried ever so hard to anger her, and it often worked.
"Túrante is right, we gladly accept you offer master dwarf. We shall follow you." The others in the party agreed, the twins were quite excited to see a dwarf kingdom.
And so they did, it was not long until they came upon a rocky outcropping from the mountain side no more than a fourth of the way up its height. Behind it was a smooth round rock, easily unnoticed if one did not know what they were looking for. It took two just to move it, revealing a black hall behind. Those leading the party grab two torches from the walls, lighting them with flint. The warm glow of the fire lit up the stone walls around them. They were smooth, ornate cravings covered them from floor to ceiling, dwarfish writing telling stories of ages long past.
Elrond walked beside her a thoughtful expression on his face, "I pray next time you decide to take my boys on a flying trip you give an on elf a warning."
She stifled a laughed, apologized very profoundly to the Elven king.
"I somehow doubt you are all that sorry," this time they both laughed
"I fear you may be correct."
"Welcome to the city of Belegost, rebuilt!" The booming voice of Boir echoed around them.
Túrante was taken aback by the beauty of the city. She had no love of being underground or inside of a mountain, not after Angband, but the ancient city was a wonder. The great entrance glittered in shining mithril
"Belegost, house of the folk of Durin the Deathless, May those who enter come in friendship and peace." Túrante read aloud.
"You read our language."
"And many a year did it take I fear. I hope it comes much easier to the race of dwarves than others." She smiled at the leader.
"Aye it does, as if we are born knowing it. Very few of the other races know it."
"We have had many years to practice I assure you, yet I will not speak it unless given no other choice for fear of butchering it." She gained a laugh from their host and a grunt from an elf behind her.
"Come," he said, "I will have people show you to your rooms."
Her room was not much, but it was comfortable enough. The dark wooden bed had a soft plush mattress, topped with heavy wool covers; the night in the mountains could get bitter cold if the fires went out. She had her fireplace lit more for the peace of watching it burn than the heat she did not need. She had her tube placed beside it to keep the water warmer longer. To have the grim of a month's travel behind her was a great relief. She had not known how good being clean could make her feel again. She sighed, dipping g farther down into the steaming water, eyes closing.
Her peace was only momentary as she thought back to the other groups traveling, yes Legolas and the others in their procession had gotten lucky and found the dwarf city and gotten a restful break, but what of the others? She knew not how they fared, how many had been killed already or injured. It was impossible to know but it was a fate many would face on the trip weather from the elements, orcs, goblins, or the vampires, some would never make it to the hidden valley in the Iron Mountains and it left coldness in her heart. She felt it was partly her fault for their deaths, it was her plan and her paths she chose for each, but it was for the greater good, he had to be stopped.
She then let her mind wander to Legolas; she let herself go to him, to see how they fared wherever in their journey they now were.
She saw them sitting in a circle, huddled together, no fire to keep warm, they were too close now to risk the smoke being seen and attracting attention would be a death warrant for their plan. They shared blankets and body, Hallon and Larcien on the outskirts of their camp keeping watch, they had kept their horses it seemed, though they were skinny, they seemed to be faring well. The group had only barely passed through the Forodwaith.
A smile played upon her lips as she watched them tell jokes and old stories to one another until they fell asleep one by one, Hallon taking first watch. She could have let her mind stay there for hours, but she knew she could not, they were safe and that is all that mattered, she needed to come back to herself and her own group.
Her water had grown cold by that point and she hoisted herself from the steel tub, wrapping a rough towel around her body as she went to gather new clothes. The little dwarf girl had laid them out for her on the chair that sat at the far side of the room she noted, neatly folded. She pulled on her brown leggings and silver undershirt. Over that she pulled on her sapphire blue tunic embroidered with dark red thread, showing the moon emblem of her city. Lastly she pulled on her socks and boots, making her way to the great hall. She knew sleep would not come for many an hour, she was used to having the first watch and still being up this time of night.
To her surprise she found a few dwarves still up and Thranduil, must to her displeasure. She made a beeline to the opposite end of the hall after fetching some water. She sat there listening quietly to the sounds around her, not focusing on any one subject for long, until she heard the silent footsteps of an elf behind her, and she did not need to look around to know who they belonged to.
"Lord Thranduil."
"I want you to stay away from my son." His voice was low and little more than a growl.
Her stomach tightened and she felt her anger rising but she had to bury deep down, getting into a fight with the elf would do no one any good. "Might I point out that the prince is not here for me to keep away from?"
"You know my meaning vampire, when this war is over I want you nowhere near him. He is a prince, he has responsibilities, and he deserves better than you." His voice was venom.
This time she did turn around, looking him square in the eye, causing him to take an involuntary stare back, "Let me say this Lord Thranduil, your son is not a boy, he is free to make his own choices, as am I. I need not the voice of others to tell me right from wrong and what to do with my life. Neither does he. However, I will offer this bit of comfort, though I scarce know why. Whatever you believe there is between your son and I is not there and even if there were, I know better than to lay hope on false realities. I have been on this earth many ages, long enough to see you born and raised and your parents before you. I make no choices lightly, especially those concerning the well being of others. I would not willingly put my people into the ridicule of yours."
She said no more, her eyes challenging him to say more, she feared, though, if he did she would not be able to hold back her rage. Luckily she did not have to try, for he turned swiftly on his heels and strode away, leaving her alone with the remaining dwarves in the hall, all sneaking glances her way.
She wanted to leave, find fresh air, she knew she could, but she did not want to give him the satisfaction of winning, though in a way she had. There was a renewed ache in her chest with the ripe thoughts of Legolas, of their few stolen moments. It was a future she so desperately long for yet knew she could never have. The reality Thranduil had made her relive threw daggers in her heart. She had to close her heart off from the reach of others, for ages she had managed that way perfectly, now she would just have to again. It was her only option, it was better than feeling this raw wrenching pain day and day out.
"Do I frighten you?" she asked the dwarf lord who had been standing behind her silently for some time now. Her voice was flat and without emotion.
"Yes." She peered at him from her seat; he came to her eye level in the low chair she occupied. "And no." he finished. "It is natural to fear what one does not know or understand. Your kin explained the bases of your journey and your kind. I fear the things you are capable of and what happens if you fail. I fear what that means for my people.
"They are well placed fears, but I mean you know harm, you need not fear me."
"You crave blood, you are craving mine right at this moment if I am not mistaken, it is hard not to fear you." Boir stated, his voice was still gruff, it held none of the tones of fear he implied with his words. He was a good leader to be able to hide his emotions from his people when it was needed.
"Wrong, my craves it, yes. My throat burns for it day and night, but my heart and mind do not. It is a constant battle they wage inside, never ending."
"What if your heart loses?"
She gave him a thoughtful expression, "It cannot, it would mean my destruction and there for the destruction of Middle Earth. Too much rides on my control of the battle for it to lose master dwarf."
"I hope you are correct." He told her, glancing over his shoulder one final time before walking away. He never heard her mutter after him, "me too."
Túrante allowed them two night rest in the dwarf city before deciding it was time to move on, too much time had already passed and every moment they lost could spell out their defeat. Boir had also decided to help them in more ways than one. He restocked their supplies of water and food and clothing needs. It was also his gift to them to show them through the old halls of the city to the northern most entrance, one than had not been used since the first age. It would leave them on the Western border of the mountains and only a day's journey to the northern border of their ending.
The pass, by her calculations almost made up for the two days they had spent with their host, the going was dark but easy going. There were no harsh elements to fight or worry of being spotted or running into a band or orcs or worse. She spoke little on the trek but upon their parting she graciously thanked Boir and once again told him his help would not go unrecognized should she make it home.
"We have a hard day travel to reach the edge of the Ered Luin; we need to make it there before nightfall if we wish to not spend another night in the Forodwaith." That seemed to quicken all their paces, as no one lagged behind or slowed down and they took only the rests that were absolutely necessary. And in her time frame they truly had made it to the end of the mountains, "Welcome to Anfauglith, the charred desert of Beleriand."
She turned then to begin making camp. She kept away from the group, sitting alone on a ridge, the Iron Mountains looming ever closer to them.
All the members noted the change in her character and it did not go unnoticed by her. The twins worked twice as hard to get her to smile by playing tricks on one another, cracking more jokes, usually on the behalf of the other, all to try and cheer her up. Gandalf told stories of his many adventures and the places he had seen and people he had met. Of course the twins were most enthralled, while the Elf lords talked to one another. Elrond was the only one who seemed to think leaving her alone was the best idea, she was silently thankful. It was hard to ignore the antics of Elrohir and Elladen and not laugh during Gandalf's stories. But she had to do it.
Túrante knew they believed it to be the dread of returning to the place of her torture and creation, which did begin to weigh heavily on her soul, but the pain of closing her heart to those around her, to remember she was not of elf kind anymore, weight heavier. She was a blood-elf, the first damnation of Melkor.
…
To be so far north the air in the Anfauglith was suffocating. Charred remains littered the ground that was still burned black beneath their feet. The poignant smell of sulfur wafting through their noses, burned like fire, choking them. Even Túrante found breathing difficult, and she did not even have to breathe to live, it was more just a reaction that came naturally. She wanted to quit, but could not, it felt wrong to her to stop her suffering when her companions could not. She would suffer with them.
This was their most dangerous trek of the journey, here there were no trees or bushes or tall grasses or even rolling hills from the mountains to hide them from sight. Everywhere you turned flat land stretch as far as the eye could see to the base of the Iron Mountains. If there were scouts looking out, they would see them, and they would have to fight, there would be no option and they would not win.
All of their nerves were taught and ready to burst, even Elrohir and Elladen had become very quiet and restless. No words were uttered unless it was absolutely needed, not that silence would save them here.
It took only a day and a half to cross the barren waste lands, for they ran a good portion of the way, adrenaline pumping, none of them seemed to tire, and Túrante was glad for that as she stared up from the foot of the Iron Mountains.
A cold chill rushed through her body, flashes of memories burned in her mind: the dungeons far below dripping with moisture, the smell of blood and the sound of it dripping from the hanging corpses used to taunt them, the chains and other tools that lined the eastern wall. She shuddered and turned away.
"We stay here the rest of the night, at dawn we will make for the hidden valley."
There was no man made pass through the Mountain range, one had to forge their own path through the merciless terrain or go around for miles and miles to come to their ending. That was the safe pass, but a much longer one. They would be lucky to make it around in a month without horses and if the weather was good and it never was.
The path they took was along a small mountain creek bed, that wound its way north straight to the valley. How it came to be no one knew, Túrante guessed the water ever so slowly eroded the stone away long before her time when Middle Earth was new. They way was easy, it held only a gradual incline. The mountains at first loomed great and tall and ominous above them, yet as they neared the oasis, they were mid way to their full height. The last leg was the worst part, the walls of the mountains grew very tight together, making so each of them had to turn sideways to shimmy through to not get stuck and then they were there.
It opened wide to reveal a space as far as the eye could see of rolling green hills. Fir trees grew everywhere in great clusters, all around the great pond that created its center. A soft wind rippled its waters. The elves with her stood in awe.
"How is this possible?"
"We are not sure, a gift from the Valar perhaps? Somehow this place remained untouched from Melkor's reign of destruction. No evil ever tainted its borders. Animals and life still thrive in this small bit of land." She replied.
'They had made it,' she thought, 'and most of the others too.' Looking around, near the base of the mountains, white tents had been put up, at least one hundred already. They had lost more time than she thought, but it did not matter now, they were here. All they heavy burdens from the evil presence left her body, here it was peaceful. The memories of Angband seemed far behind, but the threat they all had to face was looming ever nearer.