Months slowly settled over Imladris, turning into seasons and soon spring was over the valley again. Messengers went to and fro Khazad Dûm and many scouts were sent over the Mountains as preparatives began. No news had come from the Sylvan realms - no official one, that is. Deep in Lórinand, Galadriel readied herself to depart to the shores of the bay of Belfalas, in the little-inhabited lands between the mouth of the Gwathló and the Mouths of the Anduin. The time would soon be right, but for now she gathered followers and stirred dissent against Amdír's passivity towards the threat of Mordor. Durin had stopped all trade with the Greenwood and forbidden mithril export to both Sylvan realms. Unrest grew in the North and along both shores of the Anduin, as frost yielded to early leaves and the sun faintly warmed again the rocky slopes of the Misty Mountains.
Soon, it was a year since Falmaramë and Gil-Galad had gotten married; they spent that day alone together in the upper valley, laughing and dancing beneath the stars, and sunrise found them quiet in each other's arms.
A few days later, they parted in the great stone court. Falmaramë was clad in a hauberk of light mail that shone in the sun. She carried her helm under her arm, and her horse waited close by, before the first line of the company that would go with her. Gil-Galad stood on top of the steps, his new crown shining upon his brow - a light and deceptively simple thing, set with blue stones the exact shade of his eyes. Elrond was at his right hand.
"I take my leave to answer the call of an old alliance," she loudly claimed. "The care of Imladris I entrust to the lord Elrond."
They had privately said their goodbyes minutes before; while the ceremonial only aimed to take care of the formalities, she still felt emotional.
"We shall meet again beyond the Mountains," answered Gil-Galad. "In the meantime, may the sun shine upon your path."
Falmaramë sprang on her horse, put on her helm and caught the round shield that was lifted to her. This was the signal by which Halarova, already mounted, knew to rise her standard, and the silver eight-pointed star on dark blue flew in the morning breeze. Falmaramë's horse - a glistening dark bay - started in a slow canter, and she brought him back to the stairs where she held Gil-Galad's hand one last time.
"Leave now," he whispered, "or I'll ride away with you and our plan will go to the dogs."
She flashed him a wild smile and turned her horse away; the sound of his hooves rang against the stone as she drew her sword and shouted: "To the help of Khazad Dûm!"
Her cry was taken up by the soldiers assembled. They found the rest of the retinue as they left the valley and followed the southern road, where the sun-lit mists parted before them.
Their troop encountered no opposition as they progressed along the Bruinen and passed into Eregion. True to their word, the Second Born of Minas Rhain held the valley and the first low hills beyond; many mercenaries' families had joined them, and they now attracted other people, eager to start again in a new land, so that what was once empty now was filling again with life. But they stayed away from the Noldorin ruins, believing them to be unlucky, and went no further south than the place where the Bruinen met the Greyflood. There began of old the heart of Eregion, where the river ran lazily through gentle slopes, and from high places the white walls of Ost-in-Edhil used to be seen. The Mountains slowly receded away in the East; here, winters were milder and summer long dwelt in the open fields where doe and hart ran in the bracken.
Falmaramë's company was too numerous to go by the smaller ways inland, and so she had chosen to follow the old paved roads. However, she was now second-guessing that choice as she found painful to walk again through this land. She wasn't the only one; at night, camp was much quieter than before, and none protested when by the second morning she ordered a swifter pace.
The road curved east again; as it left behind the marshes of the Swanfleet, it made straight for the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil. Little by little, Falmaramë pushed her horse harder until they were galloping, and Halarova sent his own grey after her, catching the bridle and slowing them down.
"Where are you going at such a pace? Those on foot can't follow."
"Forward. I don't know."
They were alone; she was distraught and held the reins too short. Her horse neighed in protest, so she relaxed her grip and petted his neck. Halarova remarked: "There's a few things you can't run away from."
"Setting up camp within walking distance of the city is actually among the few one can run away from," retorted Falmaramë. "We could push far enough up the Glanduin and cross the battlefields without stopping."
Halarova looked at her without a word; his gaze was hard under his helm, and Falmaramë finally relented.
"All right, that would mean setting up camp in the middle of the night and people are already tired because I pushed so hard in the past few days," she spat. "Let's stop earlier, then."
Very gently, he said: "You should take into account that some might want to stop there; they might actually need to visit and walk the empty streets. Grief takes many shapes, and healing takes a long time. Have you ever gone back since the fall?"
"You know I haven't," answered Falmaramë, averting her gaze. "Anyway, this is a military expedition and not a sightseeing tour."
Her captain scoffed: "This side of the Mountains is mostly under our control, for now. Things won't get serious until we've crossed under Khazad Dûm, and Durin doesn't expect us until the full moon. Let those who wish it visit the ruins and remember the loved ones they lost. For the others - there's wine. I know I brought some."
The rest of the vanguard was in sight now, nearly close enough to hail.
"Fine," said Falmaramë, heeling her horse back. "Have it your way, I don't care. But tomorrow morning I'll want everyone sober and accounted for."
Later that night, when at last she came back to her tent, Falmaramë found Halarova sitting before his own. He was nursing the last of a small bottle, and hummed the tune of an old song to the stars.
"You've been gone a while," he remarked as she passed him. "I wonder where you've been."
Barely breaking her stride, she told him to shut up and grabbed the bottle away from him; she drained it as soon as she had secured the flap of her tent and threw herself on her travel bed. Behind her closed eyelids, she saw again the shadows of night through the empty streets, where new trees had teared through the pavement and ivy grew over crumbling walls. There had been no more smell of fire and burnt flesh, and the cool night had carried nothing but green scents. As Falmaramë slowly drifted to sleep, her closed fist relaxed, and a nugget of forge slag fell to the ground.
The Sirannon, the gate stream laden with snowmelt, sang loud its roaring song over the
cliff. The afternoon sun awoke rainbows in the waterfall as Falmaramë's company climbed the winding path, and all rejoiced in the fresh colours around them. Their lady, however, rode forward seeing nothing and hearing ghosts from the past. She barely noticed the row of holly trees planted along the road to honor the memory of Eregion. Although she wondered briefly at the many differences - the snow was fully gone, and the late winter bloom of white and purple was nowhere to be seen - her mind's eye walked along the scared child of old. She longed to embrace this child and console her, and tell her there were good things to come, but she shuddered at her last memory of the valley before Durin's Doors, and her heart faltered.
Finally, Falmaramë dismounted before the closed doors, and those around her cleared the way. The patterns of ithildinwere faint in the bright sun, running through the stone like white veins; yet it was a courtesy of Durin that the doors were only closed, and not hidden. Their stone felt smooth and warm under her hand, and she looked upon the inscription above. As she spoke the opening word, she felt echoes of the voice of the child who there had sought refuge from war, and she walked with her over the threshold.
Hugstar, son of Regin, waited for them and bowed to greet her; in turn, she bowed low. Each of the Noldor took their horses' reins in hand, and they began the crossing to the main levels of the bustling city of the Dwarves. There Durin the Silversmith met with them, and they were given lodgings to rest while the King under the Mountain elaborated a strategy with their lady.
For many days Durin and Falmaramë shut themselves away to ponder upon maps, speculating on the Sylvan realms reactions to possible events and laying out plan after plan. Many they discarded, and as they sounded out their captains they changed even more things.
"We'll have to allow for some part of chance; there's to many variables we don't control," said Durin.
Falmaramë looked at him with a slight irritation. Where Durin the Elf-friend had been old and patriarchal, Durin the Silversmith was young and hale; under his silver crown ran waves of deep brown hair braided with gold, and his gaze was full of brisk determination. His flowering beard parted to reveal a heavy chain of mithril and bright gems. In all, he was a Dwarven king of song, full of vigour, and only the weight of latent war prevented his reign from being as prosperous as the one of his predecessor.
"Yet we need to agree on our response to events," countered Falmaramë, "as later there will be too much distance between us to allow for swift concertation."
They were half sitting, half reclining on low sofas where they had taken a quick meal. The fatigue of days of discussion was taking its toll; they were both frustrated and began to think in circles. Durin rose with a groan and said:
"Let's go over the keeps' locationagain, shall we?"
Falmaramë headed back with him to a table were a detailed map of the land between the right shore of the Anduin and the Mountains had been laid. Small tokens figured small keeps and towers to be built to guard the roads and the land. They had soon agreed on the first ones to establish, but still hesitated on some, particularly near the northern border of the Lórinand woods.
"The pass of Caradhras must be guarded," said again Durin. "If we want to lock all the ways over the Mountains, we can't leave unprotected the road from the Gladden Fields to the Dimrill Dale."
"Yet Amdír must feel threatened in his wood. When Galadriel leaves - next year, perhaps - and her protection slowly fades, he has to feel the breath of our enemies upon his neck. We want him to envy, for once, our towers of stone; the closest needs to dangle on the edge of his sight, too far to protect him, and yet too close to let him forget the protection he has shunned."
With a frown, Durin put down a token and said:
"This is the farthest I feel comfortable with. Even a few leagues further north, the land becomes too rough, and there are valleys where it is possible to walk hidden away from sight."
"Then let's bring it even closer to the Dimrill Dale," said Falmaramë, "on this outcrop. Amazing view on all surrounding ways, and more empty land for Amdír to fret over."
"But what if he decides that he's fine with raiders near his northern border?"
They devolved again in sterile talk over possibilities they already had discussed many times. Finally, Falmaramë went over the table to pour herself some water, and they fell silent for a while. When Durin spoke again, it was for the first time in khuzdûl, the secret language of his people, gifted to them by Aulë when the Fathers of the Dwarves awoke in the depths of time. And he asked:
"Have you even climbed the Endless Stair?"
"No," answered Falmaramë. "It is forbidden to outsiders."
"Yet weren't you given a dark name by your foster fathers?"
She remained silent, and Durin said: "This too is forbidden to outsiders. Narvi and Vali kept their secret well, but once in their old age they slipped in public and it was brought back to me. Since it was done out of love, I chose not to punish them and held silent. But you have to know that those who hold a dark name have a right to climb the Stairs and behold the summit of Zirakzigil."
With a wry smile, Falmaramë said: "I feel you may be twisting the word of the law, as its spirit is to bar those who are not Dwarves from a sacred place."
"But what makes a Dwarf? Is it the size, the beard? Or is it the knowledge of our customs and acceptance of our people? Anyway, I wish to make again the pilgrimage upside, and I would like you to accompany me. One gains a different perspective from there."
"That would be my greatest honour," said Falmaramë, bowing low. "I serve you and your family."
On the following day, they left to go to the deepest level of the city, and Falmaramë wondered at how greatly things had changed since she had lived there. The western quarters, where Narvi and Durin the Elf-friend dwelled, had been all but abandoned and were now mere places of passage for miners. Without the pull of their rich relationship with Eregion, the people of the Silversmith had fallen back to the older eastern town, which was now more populous than ever. While the main ways had stayed the same, smaller passages had been altered - enlarged, or connected to other places newly carved from the rock - and Falmaramë knew she'd be at risk to loose herself without Durin's guidance.
People parted before the fast trot of Durin's pony and Falmaramë's horse. Little by little, they left behind the bustle of the city to fall to the forges, and then places of quiet. At last, they reached a wide place of naked rock where the air stood still between great carved walls, and in front of them was a wide archway leading to winding stairs. Light came only from the lamp Durin carried, and it cast great shadows around them. A few Dwarves were already assembled in a corner; if there was surprise at seeing their King here with a stranger, they kept it to themselves, merely bowing in recognition before going back to their business.
"It is customary to spend seven days going up," explained Durin in a low voice so as not to disturb the silence. "Tonight, we shall sleep here, and every night afterwards we shall spend in the pilgrims' halls; there is one on each level. Some take a vow of silence before leaving, while others sing songs to Mahal, the Maker whom you call Aulë. Some climb on their knees in an act of repentance, while others run to test their strength, each according to their own belief. Our food we shall find in the shrines set along the way; our drink we'll take from springs and fountains given to us by the mountain, and it shall be more delectable than wine."
As Falmaramë acquiesced, Durin gave some more explanations. They left their mounts to the care of a Dwarf whose usual task it seemed to be, and got ready to sleep on pilgrims' rough pallets set aside in a corner of the wide hall. Falmaramë had never been so deep below the Mountains; she wondered at the weight of rock that stood between her and the open sky, and was amazed by it. Sleep didn't come to her easily. Her open eyes made out fanciful shapes in the all-encompassing darkness and a fear took her - but she turned her back to the wall, stared at the dark phantoms, and they disappeared.
When morning came, they were roused by the one who had taken their horses. They washed their hands, feet and faces in a fountain carved from the living rock; a spring swirled at the bottom of the stone basin and overflowed the rim in a black curtain. The water was so cold that Falmaramë's teeth hurt when she drank it, and she took a vow of silence, wishing for a new clarity to come to her along the way.
Crossing the threshold of the stairs was crossing into another world, an endless liminal space of uniform steps. They carried their own light, taking turns to bear a lantern that swung with each step, and they walked encircled in dancing shadows. There was a mesmerizing quality to the regular steps and the spiraling staircase, that were perpetually the same and yet forever changing, and Falmaramë soon found her spirit drifting. As they went up, time seemed to stop, and they were immobile in a droplet of light moving through the solid rock. They were alone; the only sound was that of their breaths and of their rhythmic footfall over the stone. Twice, they drank from small fountains dripping in niches carved in the walls; when evening came and they found a low hall with food and humble beddings, Falmaramë laid herself down and let weariness overcome her. Her thighs and calves ached, because the steps were cut too low for her; and her thoughts were a tangle of silk that needed to unwind. When sleep took her, she didn't fight the night ghasts and dreamed uneasy dreams, full of half-recognised faces and lurking menace.
Every day that went was the same, but she learned to grasp at the threads of tumbling thoughts and follow them through, going over them many times as if she were polishing a blade and feeling for barbs and snags that needed special care. The surrounding darkness didn't feel as foreboding now, and at night its empty embrace lost its menace. The Mountain surrounded them, supported them and protected them, for the might of Durin's Folk is the might of the Mountain. The ancient hills do not forget, and each day they awoke more untethered from their usual selves, and closer to their true and naked souls.
On the last night, Falmaramë thought she had awoken on a black slope of harsh stones, and she felt as if her chest was about to burst from pain. She fell to her knees, not knowing where she was, and screamed away in despair and grief. Sharp gravel hurt her palms; beside her wedding ring shone the red gleam of Narya, and she screamed again until breath came to miss, until her throat was raw, until she had poured out all the hurt and rage in the world and she felt empty, and alone. She thought she was in Eregion, but when she looked up unknown mountains supported the darkened skies, and the light of a single star pierced her heart. And she somehow knew that she had to go on, so she got up and walked, and found herself starring at a wide sea. Yet her feet were bound to the shore, and she could only gaze in amazement at the great white birds who rode the winds, loosing themselves in the grey and peaceful morn until they passed away from sight.
Waking up in a cold sweat, Falmaramë felt her way in the dark to the chatter of a spring that gushed forth in a corner of the room and threw cold water on her face. She felt exhausted to her bones; she felt a duty pulling her forward, and she knew she must accomplish it, because the cost wasn't hers to fix although the price would be hers to pay. The murmur of the fountain - the first truly running water she had encountered since they had began walking - soothed her. As its sweet water quenched her thirst, she found again an equilibrium and, while she suddenly longed for Gil-Galad, she knew that she would find the strength to do what must be done. What this task was, however, she still wondered.
Soon enough, the night was over, and a pale light crept through the door: they had reached the end of their pilgrimage. They clad themselves in thick furs prepared on a bench and stepped out in the icy air for the last part of the way.
A short flight of steps lead them outside; the stairs now ran freely along the mountainside, being cut from the living rock that shouldered them. Ice had accumulated along the banister that stood between them and the void, and the rarefied air felt thin to their hungry lungs. The stairs ended higher still, on a wide platform that dominated everything; the summit of Zirakzigil was less than a hundred yards away up a gentle slope of blinding snow. Such was Durin's Tower, highest point in the Misty Mountains, and after the long climb in the dark the morning light was bewildering. Here they dominated all and saw all; clouds seldom reached this place, drifting instead below as lazy sheep shepherded by the high ridges along deep valleys.
They respectfully touched the snow and brought their cold fingers to their lips, and were free to speak again.
"How far does the sight carry?" asked Falmaramë, and her throat felt rusty. "Can we see the Sea?"
Durin replied: "No, the Sea is yet too far. Look to the south; that faint peak faraway is the one you call Methedras; beyond lie the gap of Calenardhon, and then the White Mountains and the land of Falas. Only then is the Sea to be found; many think they have guessed its horizon behind layers of mist, but none yet has been proven right. As for the west, Eriador is too wide. This silver ribbon is the Greyflood."
But Falmaramë's gaze was drawn to the north, where the chain of summit curved away, and, straining her eyes, she recognized the peaks that stood over Imladris, and she smiled. Durin named her the summits; to the east, they marked the Anduin and the Sylvan kingdoms of Lórinand and the Greenwood. The map had come to life, and soon they were planning again, this time with more success. When the day was done and a golden light still bathed the Tower while the land below had already fallen to the night, they sat down under their furs and watched as twilight covered Middle Earth. To the east, a purple mist covered the land; everything was lost in a blur, and, when the last ray of light had sunk below the west, the snowy summits of Zirakzigil, Barazimbar and Bundushathûr appeared to float as ghostly petals over a great lake of deep violet and blue. Over them, the ageless dome of heavens deepened from a powder blue to a dark colour of unmatched intensity, and long a memory of light remained where the sun had gone. As, one by one, stars bloomed in great constellations, Durin and Falmaramë began to speak again; war, now, was far from their minds. As night closed around them, they found they had kindred spirits. They shared secrets about themselves - and, hearing Durin talk, Falmaramë was so filled with wonder that she laughed with pleasure and surprise because, until now, Durin had been in the habit to speak of her predecessors' lives and experiences as her own. Falmaramë, not feeling as much at ease as with Durin the Elf-friend, had kept some things to herself, too. But that was was gone now and they chatted merrily until, at last, a biting cold forced them back inside. Under a reel of stars, brighter for the deep frost that had taken the high places, they descended back to the last hall of pilgrims and carefully put back their furs for the next visitors. As they took their meal, Durin asked:
"Remind me when Gil-Galad is set to go over the High Pass?"
"A week after the Summer Moon," said Falmaramë. "We have to be ready soon."
"When we get back, the scouts will probably have made their report. Then we'll prepare ourselves and soon be underway."
That night, Falmaramë had no vision, but her dreams carried her to the gardens of Imladris, where she walked in happiness again and held Nandaro's hand.
Some days before the Summer Moon, a great host left by the eastern door of Khazad Dûm; at its head was Durin, Falmaramë at his side, and Dwarves and Noldor went together to war for the first time since the fall of Eregion. They were planning of securing the land as they went, and indeed met little resistance as Orcs and other foul creatures fled in fear from their shining blades. Some, both Dwarves and Noldor, stayed behind to begin building towers; many stone workers had come from Khazad Dûm. Meanwhile, Halarova had found himself a double-bladed axe and swung it with delight into the empty air at one of their first camps.
"I won it from a master of the forge in a bet," he explained as Falmaramë looked at him with merry curiosity. "He didn't think Durin himself would come with us, while I was sure he would grace us with his royal company along with his soldiers."
"Hers," she absent-mindedly corrected.
"No, I'm pretty sure the smith was a man, although as usual it's hard to tell."
"Not him, Durin."
Caught by surprise, Halarova missed the handle of the axe that, falling on the ground, nearly caught his foot. As he picked it up, he inquired with curiosity: "How do you know?"
"I had never spoken khuzdûl with her before. When we came to the coronation she was still an infant, after all, and when they all came to Imladris last year we only spoke either the Common Speech or Quenya, as Dwarves do not speak their secret language within reach of outsiders. Turns out she had chosen to keep this information secret too, until now."
"But why? It wouldn't change anything."
Falmaramë gave him a hard look, and said: "Are you sure? The Sindar are not as open-minded as us; and even amongst the Noldor I am an exception. Belonging to a ruling House gives me more freedom than most. Most Dwarves chose to go as men in the outside world for this very reason. As for the Second Born, you've met them; Númenoreans or not, they are prejudiced."
"So should we call her the Queen Under the Mountain in public, then? What does she want?"
"Nothing is to change outwardly; Durin is the King Under the Mountain and nothing else. However, she has asked that in private we address her otherwise. This is why I am telling you now, but you are sworn to secrecy. Feel honoured to be included in the confidence, and don't blabber."
Halarova readily promised; however, he flinched when Falmaramë added: "If I notice you treating her any differently now, know I will probably smash your fingers with that axe you're holding. In good friendship, of course."
As they slowly made their way up north, they came upon the village of Ham; it had been reported to be deserted. It appeared, however, that this was not truly the case. While Aldith and most of the population were gone, they found, huddling together, several people. Sickly children, the old and frail, and two strong men who had been maimed - about a dozen Second Born in all had made themselves a refuge in one of the bigger longhouses. Durin wondered aloud what they should do with them; Falmaramë proposed that they go and see them before judging.
Those left behind knew they were no match for the well-armed host that had come with the intent to rase their village to the ground, yet one of the men had taken a small axe used for chopping wood and stood defiantly before the others.
"Who are you," he called in the Common Speech, "and what do you want with us? There is nothing of any worth left here."
Stepping forward, Falmaramë replied: "We are friends - or foes. We want to free this land of Aldith's influence. Wether that makes us the former or the latter is for you to judge."
The man lowered his weapon and bade them enter. The house was extremely dark; light snaked its way in though a hole in the roof, where smoke from the fire tried to escape. An old woman sat by the dying embers, cradling a small child in her arms; when she looked up, her eyes were fully white.
"You're not alone, Arne," she said in their own language. "Who comes with you? I don't recognise their pace."
"Friends, mother Thyra, who are after that she-wolf Aldith and her ilk."
Durin and Falmaramë sat cautiously by the fire; Halarova stood vigilant behind them, his hand resting upon the pommel of his new axe. They introduced themselves, and the crone said: "I have never heard the like of your voices. Are you Elves?"
"I am," said Falmaramë. "I came here before. My friend, however, is a Dwarf."
Mother Thyra sighed, and said: "How I regret being blind! I've always heard that Elves were the most beautiful creatures to walk this earth, and that the Dwarves were the most dignified. What business can you have with us, the wretched refuse of Aldith's ambition?"
So Durin asked, with a deep rustling voice: "Why were you abandoned? For that much at least is clear to us."
The man, Arne, laughed bitterly. "Can't you see? We were no good to Aldith, or her new friends in the northern hills. Old mother Thyra is blind; this nursing child didn't cry at birth and still cannot lift his head, although he's nigh a year old. As for me, Aldith herself cut three of my fingers when I rose against her. All of us here are the same: too weak, too old, or impaired in some way."
"She said she wanted the best for all of us," continued mother Thyra in her croaking voice. "She said she would make us a great people, and why wouldn't we have believed her? She had killed that dragon to free us from these terrible mines. But, once we were back from this slavery, she had this talk of people having to earn their right to stay. She spoke of this great lord who would give us all many riches, yet at a cost, that was the fealty of all those of sound body. She said that the others were a drain on our society, and would only drag everyone back."
Then the child began to mew; Arne took him from the old woman's arms and, taking some broth from the pot, began feeding him, shushing him with a rhyme.
"She would have slain that one at birth," he said. "He was not of my blood, yet I rose to defend him. I was merely visiting her mother, who was a friend of my wife and, being taken with childbed fever, couldn't herself defend the bairn. Aldith had the best of me, thanks to that strange power she has gained recently, but I didn't go down silently, and people stirred. So she merely maimed me, and made plans to leave with them and left us undesirables to fend for ourselves. Some she coerced by awakening fear in their hearts, but others went willingly. All in all, we were left a score. Despite doing our best, some didn't survive winter."
Hearing this account, Durin shook her beard and muttered: "Shame on them, shame. A people is only great that cares for the weak, for what use is strength if not for that?"
Neither mother Thyra nor Arne knew where Aldith was now. North or south was indifferent to them; none of their companions, that were interrogated later, had any other clue. None of them had seen another ringbearer either.
The Second Born were left with supplies taken from the host, and promises to send more help to them before winter.
They continued to walk north; by the time they got to the foot of the High Pass, the bright star called Nastarendo rose red upon the southern sky. As they had gotten closer, the Orcs and wargs had gotten bolder, too, and fought instead of flying, so that Halarova had occasion to wield his great axe. But they endured little loss of life, and spirits were strong when they found themselves following the trail of Gil-Galad's army. He too had left people behind to hold the land, and they reinforced those on the road to the Ford of Anduin - the only place where the great river was shallow enough to be crossed without a boat.
As they progressed north still, weather became unsteady; a particularly bad storm had left behind great sheets of cloud that clung to the hills. On a certain morning, not long after sunrise, a ray of misty light cut through the grey cover to graze at the cliffs, shining over the treetops, while a dull shade hid the world behind. Falmaramë now rode with the vanguard, such was her haste to find again Gil-Galad, and they had left before the rest of her following was ready. Yet they hadn't gone far when a cavalcade of hooves echoed far along the vale; many instantly fell into a defensive position, but something stirred within Falmaramë's heart. Enjoining the small troop to wait, she spurred her horse forward, sending him into a gallop at full speed along the road. Once she had passed the next bend, she saw him, riding in his bright armour like the rising sun of his emblem. The distance that sundered them closed in a blink, and they stopped in a rush, close to each other, leaning on their stirrups to embrace madly. Her arm was over his back; they kissed with hungry lips, forgetting the need to breath. Her curling fingers failed to find purchase on the sleek pauldron that protected his shoulder, and he slid his hand on the small of her back, bringing her closer. Their horses, unsure of their riders, turned gingerly around each other, so, in a smooth motion, Falmaramë slid in front of Gil-Galad, riding side-saddle. Then he took her into his arms, and she couldn't stop to look at his smiling blue eyes, except to kiss him again, desperate for his touch and moved by his affection.
"I didn't hope to be so close to you today," she said, smiling against his cheek. "I missed you so much."
"Yesterday evening, your scouts got to our encampment," Gil-Galad murmured into her ear. "So I thought to meet my Elenatta on the road."
"Did you sneak away again?"
He chuckled - his warm breath sent shivers down her spine - and said: "No, my four shadows aren't far behind. Maeron decreed that I was free to exhaust my own horse, but that they would follow at a more quiet pace."
"They're getting better at giving us some privacy, aren't they?"
She traced the contour of his cheekbones as he answered, his lips searching the inside of her wrist.
"Who wouldn't warm up to you? Besides, they haven't forgotten the way you jumped before Sauron's ghostly envoy, doing their job for them, so to speak. They know we're safe together. Has Durin come with you?"
"Yes, she's with the main troop. Did you spot any sign of a ringbearer? We failed to."
"We didn't do any better. Nothing but skirmishes with Orcs that we either slayed or sent flying south, hopefully right into your waiting lances, but nothing more. So I stopped before reaching the mountains where the Lords of the North dwell, in the hope that you would bring Durin's envoy, if not Durin in person, to change us from invaders to negotiators."
Having exchanged the main news, they stopped speaking for a while; his lips met hers again, and they tasted each other in a tender embrace of feather-light kisses. Soon enough, they were joined by Gil-Galad's four.
"My lady," said Forven, bowing his head.
"Well met," she answered gracefully, forcing herself to ignore the weight of her lover's hand upon her hip, "Forven, Calmarquen, Maeron, Vilyond, I am happy to see you again."
They all greeted her with joy, and they exchanged a few friendly quips. Turning again to Gil-Galad, Falmaramë proposed: "Will you ride pillion with me for a while? Your poor horse is tired from the night run, while mine is fresh."
"Your wish is my command," said Gil-Galad, his lips curling in a grin.
As they dismounted and found their new arrangement on Falmaramë's mount, Maeron commented in a dead-pan voice: "Yeah, we don't want the horses to get tired. Don't we have a vanguard to meet somewhere? Perhaps they'll have oats; for the horses, of course."
Mount Gundubanad was the northernmost peak of the Misty Mountains; it sat at the point where the great mountain range divided itself it two lesser chains. To the north and west rose the mountains of Angmar, a mostly empty land full of Orcs, dragons, and fell creatures. Going straight east like a curved wall were the Ered Mithrin, the Grey Mountains that bordered the wide basin where many rivers, born from snow-melt, met each other to form the great Anduin. These were settled in part by Dwarves that hailed from Durin's Folk, but in truth ruled their own realm without interference from Khazad Dûm, and their chief city laid under the belly of great Gundubanad. The mountain itself was wide and squat; unlike Zirakzigil, it bore no snow in summer, although its high crests of grey stone still rose far above the limit of green turf that clung to the lower faces. Thrushes twitted over the small plain where the road ended, and great eagles circled above, unconcerned with the bright army that arranged itself before the door.
In front were several companies of Dwarves, clad in shining hauberks of bright mail. Behind them were a similar number of Noldor, their lances keen in the summer sun of the north, and Durin, King under the Mountain, stood in front of them, commanding all. A step behind, on his right, was Falmaramë, and on his left, further still, was Gil-Galad.
The great gate of Gundubanad was closed; it was embraced by deeply carved pillars and a lintel cut from the living rock. High enough and wide enough for a fire-drake of old to crawl through the door, and still have room to turn around, the gate was made to welcome a large traffic, but for now nothing stirred from behind.
Durin stepped forward; his dark beard shone upon his breast, over a plate of mithril inlaid with black steel, and a fearful helm in the shape of a dragon covered his head. Force was in his right hand, that rested on the pommel of an axe of great workmanship, and he lifted his left, commanding with a booming voice for the gate of Gundubanad to open.
Nothing happened, at first, until the stone doors moved - slowly, reluctantly, as if another mind was trying to hold them closed, and found the exertion too great. Under Durin's command, they finally gaped open like a dark maw, and Durin called forward the Lords of the North, who ruled Gundubanad and the Ered Mithrin.
They came, for the authority of Durin was absolute, and none dared defy him openly. Four of them there was, all clad in rich wools embroidered with gems. Their wide chests were adorned with thick golden chains, and each bore a golden ring on their finger.
"Who are you," said Durin, "who claim to rule this land for me, yet look upon my enemy with loving eyes? Who are you, who claim to uphold our sacred laws, yet have shunned my orders, given of old, and so dare show yourself wearing gifts of my enemy. Who are you, who have fallen under an evil influence?"
The four cowered, but one boldly answered: "Who are you yourself, who come to our door with a foreign army at your back? You speak of your enemy, and act as if the Khazâd were not the natural enemy of the Eldar. Send the strangers away."
Despite his burning gaze, Durin was unmovable as stone and didn't answer. But, to his right, Falmaramë kneeled.
"I am Telpënar, ruling lady of the Noldor, daughter of Celebrimbor Telpërincar, son of Curufin Atarinkë, son of Fëanor. I took an oath of old," she proclaimed loud in khuzdûl, "to serve Durin in his hour of need. My father was a friend of Durin and built the doors of Khazad Dûm. My grandfather was received in Gabilgathol and Tumunzahar. Today, the house of Fëanor stands at the service of Durin. Durin's enemy is my enemy. He called and I answered. Long is my memory; I know the one who corrupted these rings you bear, and Durin's quarrel is my fight."
The four murmured among themselves, and said: "The Elda with the dark name we accept, alone. Yet the High King of the Noldor must go and take away their troops."
Rising, Falmaramë spoke: "He is both my marlel and my yeshtar. He stands by me. Today, the full might of the West stands behind Durin."
The four began to argue between their huddled shoulders. Durin interrupted them, and his commanding voice brought them to attention.
"I entrusted the fathers of your fathers' fathers with this mountain and these hills when I left to found my realm of Khazad Dûm. What have you done with it? Wargs run to your door; you ignore the roaming Orcs, and befriend the Dark Lord of Mordor."
"This we did not do," protested hotly one of the four, his beard shaking with indignation. "We avoided open conflict; what's the wrong in that?"
"I know you entertained correspondence with him. I know you helped his machinations against the Second Born of Ham, which are responsible for the current unrest in the Anduin vale, and received his envoys with feasts of milk and honey."
Silence fell on the open field before the gate; the sun chased away clouds in a whirl of shadows and light, and one of the four threw himself on the ground, begging for forgiveness. His companions did not move, but another asked: "What do you request, o Living Father of the Dwarves, Durin the Silversmith, heir of Durin the Elf-friend, heir of Durin the Builder, heir of Durin the Deathless?"
"That you refuse the alliance of Mordor, that you chase the liars and envoys of Mordor from your halls, and that you defend your land against the creatures of Mordor. Cast away your rings! Better yet, destroy them, if you can find such strength within your hearts - but if that were impossible, resist their pull. Weigh my friendship and your own righteousness against the stratagems of Mordor. Weigh your hearts against the feather of truth. When the Day of Judgement comes, shall Mahal cast your souls into the forge's fire, or preserve them like everlasting jewels?"
The three still standing shuffled with unease, tugging at their beards, and Durin still spoke:
"There are four seasons of the year when the world is judged. In winter, in regard to the bountiful rain; in spring, in regard to the yearly bloom; in summer, in regard to the harvest of the trees; and in autumn when the living are judged. Winter and spring are now gone; your summer is troubled, but the crop is yet to be full. What shall your autumn be? Decide now, and decide wisely."
The sun rippled over the green, barren land full of running water and sharp hills during what felt an eternity; it awoke a glimmer over the shining spears of the Noldor and the glistening helms of the Dwarves. The wind freshened - banners flapped - a bird cried. At last, one of the four turned to summon an underling and whispered something to his ear; the Dwarf bowed and ran inside. Slowly, they all removed their rings, putting them away safely, and prostrated themselves beside their comrade. Long they stayed down on the hard earth. Some Second Borns, clad in black, were dragged through the open door and sent running; they protested with angry shouts at being so manhandled by a few Dwarves armed with short swords, calling upon the four for help. Their shrill cries abated, though, when they saw the scene outside, and were pushed away from the door.
"Run to your Dark master," said Durin. "Run, and tell him Durin's Folk is not his to command. Run, and tell him all his cunning and all his tricks are worthless against the People of Mahal, and that we shall forever rise against him. For our power is the power of the Mountain, created in the beginnings of time by Mahal himself, and He made us sturdy to resist evils such as him. Run, and come back never."
They walked slowly at first, passing close to the standing commanders, and looked hard at Gil-Galad and Falmaramë, noting their devices and studying their faces. Little by little, however their pace quickened, and they crossed the army in a small run. When they were gone, Durin lifted up his hands, spreading his fingers in a gesture of blessing, and said to the prostrated Lords of the North: "Rise, and be forgiven. Do not test my patience again and all shall be well. I would rather have you abandon this place and seek refuge elsewhere than fall again to the Enemy's ploys."
The Lords of the North scrambled up; in shame, their gaze was fixated to the ground, and they beat their breast before bowing again to Durin, thankful for his mercy. Then, they were dismissed and marched back inside with heavy steps.
When all was said and done, Durin took leave of Gil-Galad and Falmaramë; she planned to dwell for a time in Gundubanad to make sure the repentance of the Lords of the North held. After a few days of rest, the Noldor said their goodbyes and began the voyage back to Imladris; except for those who were dispatched to the newly formed string of garrisons along the western bank of the Anduin, near all those who had left were returning. That long strip of land was now secured, and would remain so for many long years; the very small cost of lives was hailed a great victory, and the alliance between the Noldor and the Dwarves had been rekindled. During the years to come, however, many incidents and a few battles plagued the Sylvan realms, that now bore the blunt of the violent people and creatures chased away from the foot of the Mountains. Galadriel left Lórinand for the shores of the Sea by the bay of Falas, and all the ways west to Eriador were now held safely - save the Gap of Calenardhon, that was long to remain a threat to the safety of Eriador. For now, however, Falmaramë and Gil-Galad intended to rest a while and enjoy the regained safety of Imladris. Little did they know that unrest would soon gain the valley and hidden foes rise against them.