Chapter 17 Showdown



When Sam had pulled the phial of Elven light from his pocket, Tom, Bilbo and Farrimer had caught Grydore and his Dwarf party. It was possibly this that saved the Dwarves from annihilation, the Warg had not been in reach of them when their presence had been discovered. It was certainly their own short stature and lack of perceived threat that formed theirs. Instead of being cleaved in two by a sword or axe, Farrimer shoulders were gripped in stoney hands and lifted clear of the floor.

He struggled furiously in the vice like grip as he was swung away and passed towards a second Warg. Bilbo, sensing his friends legs flash past, gripped them securely and pulled, calling out for Tom to come to his assistance. The weight of the two Hobbits, pulling Farrimer clear of his captor with a tearing of cloth.

Crashing to the floor from the release, they were more in danger from being trampled to death as Warg and Dwarf clashed. With much urgency they crawled for the relative safety of the wall. Even there there was little safety. Bilbo having the wind taken from him by a slain Dwarf falling atop of him, he could feel the blood oozing through the Dwarf's mail.

Gamely they inched forward, Tom picking up the fallen Dwarf's axe as he passed and taking a wild swing into the knee of a figure as it hovered threateningly over him, not caring whether it be Dwarf or Warg. The figure fell with a scream.

It was at this time that the phial flared for the second time. With the massive figure of a Warg poised over Sam clearly silhouetted in the blinding light, ready to strike down on the elderly Hobbit.

Espying this, Tom rose to his feet, heedless of the danger and charged. Struggling to swing the heavy axe above his head.

The blow to the Warg, when it came, was more of a surprise to the warrior, than dangerous, clanging as it did off of its stony chain armour. It did render it off balance, the blow it was intending to administer to Sam swinging wide and smashed noisily to the ground.

Not waiting to see who the warrior would attempt to strike at next, Tom clumsily swung again, striking the Warg in the thigh before dropping the weapon in favour of dragging Sam to his feet. There was little need to panic, the Warg had lost interest, slowly crumpling to the ground.

The persistence of the Elven light brought heart to the embattled Dwarves and further dismay to their foe who started to fall back in fear of the brilliant light.

With the help of Farrimer and Bilbo, Othmiel rose unsteadily. "I must continue!" She gasped.

She gasped again in anguish, as the light of Sam's phial faded, she spotted Malindron amongst the fallen. Half buried under two Warg, he lay, a broken sword blade in his chest.

"Brother!" She cried in pity collapsing to her knees beside his prostrate body and gripped his hand. "How can I finish my task without your support!"

She began a sad lament over her fallen brother, the tears brimming from her eyes as Dwarf and Hobbit alike stood around in frustrated contrition.

Finally Grydore approached the stricken Elf. "You still have a task to complete, Lady," he observed as gently as a dwarf could manage.

"I can not," Othmiel whispered pitifully. "He was my protector. Without him I will be unable to approach Valtar."

"Dwarves have been protecting you in this fool quest since you entered the mine," Grydore retorted. "Aye, and Hobbits too. Perhaps we have not done so badly. We've spilt enough blood for you."

"But without, Malindron," she tried to argue.

"He gave the old Hobbit your protection didn't he?" Grydore snapped. "It meant he could fight for you. If you don't finish the task then he will die for nothing. I don't know what you have to do to kill this Valtar, but Dwarves will be beside you when you do. We are not going anywhere else now."

He gripped Othmiel by the arm and forced her to stand. "We will shriven him properly when you have finished," he promised.

For a few moments more Othmiel gazed down upon her brother sorrowfully, drawing deep breaths to regain her composure. Finally she looked up. "I will continue," she declared softly, then louder. "Well Master Samwise, I am totally in your protection now. Stay close, Master Hobbit, the Warg will be waiting for us in Valtars layer." She stepped onward down the tunnel and towards the entrance of Valtars layer.

Sam followed, the phial in his hand where he could watch the light inside strengthen again.

Othmiel stopped before a crack in the wall. Measuring barely four feet tall and three wide, she gazed upon it uncertainly. "This is the entrance to Valtar's lair," she said softly. "The entrance is narrow and low. We can but pass one by one, whoever goes first will surely be struck down." She looked directly at Sam. "I am afraid, Master Hobbit," she admitted sadly. "You must pass first. I wish it were not so and if Malindron were here it would not be so, but your light may give us time to enter. Whatever happens, you must hold the light."

Sam hesitated, until Grydore pushed forward. "My axe will protect you Master Hobbit," he insisted. "It will be right behind you."

It lacked a great deal of comfort.

"Ah. Well we'll, it tain't been a bad life for a Hobbit," Sam decided. "Perhaps a little too much excitement for many. So perhaps I'd better get on with it." He hunched into a crouch and slid into the gap.

He emerged into waste deep white mist that swirled then retreated from around him as he held his light up and it surged to a new level of brightness. He did not see the great axe that swung down towards him.

Nor did Grydore, he sensed it, felt the breeze as it fell, and dived forward with a great cry, pushing Sam forward. The axe took him in the back, the chain mail cleanly cleaved.

Sam stumbled forward trying to keep his feet, whilst still gripping the phial, closing his fist around it firmly and feeling it burn into his hand, the light so bright now it was casting shadows of pink and red as it streamed through his hand. Behind him more Dwarves entered, spying their fallen leader they set upon the Wargs with war cries that echoed in the chamber.

Prising his hand open to let the light shine openly, Sam found he was standing in a clearing perhaps 20 feet in diameter. In the mist around him the Dwarves were plunging, their axes bright in his light as they took their revenge. He started as a hand settled on his shoulder.

"Come, we must hurry," Othmiel insisted in a whisper. "Or they will be joining their kin as stone," she waved briefly at the furious dwarves. "And Valtar will escape."

The Dwarves, for their part, had disposed of the last of the Warg and slowly began realise their predicament. Standing as they were, amidst the mist, they began struggling to move leaden feet to regain the safety of the clearing around Sam.

Gently Othmiel pushed Sam towards the centre of the cavern. There she sheathed her knife and stood her head bowed in concentration, before whispering to Sam. "You must shield the light as much as possible. We can not be seen as threatening."

Unhappily Sam pushed the phial as deep into his coat as he could and shrugged helplessly at his younger compatriots as the miss surged towards them and Othmiel began to sing in an Elvish form that Sam had never heard before and had little hope of understanding, but the images and smells it revealed in his mind provoked memories, both old and young, making him sway at the realisation.

The song started softly with images of gentle breezes over dew soaked hay meadows, that faded into memories of new born lambs, warm sunny summer days and fresh mown grass. Othmiel's voice became stronger and the images grew darker; a thunderstorm loomed overhead it's storm flashes and whip like thunder making the small creatures that surrounded his feet scatter for shelter and Sam found himself amidst trees sheltering from the large rain drops, until finally the sun emerged again, setting gold and green as it filtered through leaves, again leaving him sensing the smell of the damp earth and the peaceful rustle of leaves as they were stirred by gentle breezes.

These and other images, as he found later, flashed through the minds of all, whilst the fog around them billowed and curled around them, sometimes advancing, some times retreating, but always getting thicker. As it's intensity grew the shape of a figure emerged in ghostly silhouette, formed from the fog itself .

Finally the mist thinned and drew into the silhouette until the ghostly apparition became solid.

It was an Elven girl, perhaps not a child, she was as tall as Othmiel, but younger and daintier. Her face and hands as porcelain white as the soft cotton shift she wore, whilst her waist long hair flashed silver as she twisted and stretched before them. Yet her eyes burned like rubies as they locked upon the small gathering, silently burning into their soul, challenging them to move or react.

Dwarf and Hobbit alike stood frozen as she wafted towards Othmiel, her arms outstretched in welcome. She hugged Othmiel closely, locking red eyes onto the brown before Othmiel screamed in pain.

Sam could see the green clad Elf struggling for the handle of the knife at her belt, whilst the phial, deep within his coat, screamed its perpetual warning. Unable to take his eyes from the scene being played before him, his hand searched for the light and in one move clasped and withdrew it.

The sudden flash of new light distracted the ghostly elven girl, breaking her eye contact with Othmiel and enticing a silent scream of her own, as finally Othmiel grasped her blade and plunged it deep into her enemy.

For a moment Othmiel held the frail white creature close to her, encircling arms holding each other upright. Then they both slumped slowly to the ground, where they lay silently, until with a faint draft the white Elf crumpled into dust and Sam's phial faded into darkness, leaving just a fluttering torch that Bilbo had dropped to the floor as he had entered the cavern.