We burst into the caverns easily, dismounted, with our swords drawn,
spearmen on the flanks, archers as advance guard and rear.
We should have known it was not so easy as that. Over the bleeding bodies of a few defenders, we stepped into Menegroth. Morifinwë led us, a shade in his black armor. I stayed close by Tyela's side and my hands sweated in my gauntlets. It seemed wrong that Maitimo was not here to lead us. He did not know we had chosen this attack.
I could see the marks of old fires on the walls and I thought the greycloaks must be weakened by their war with the naugrim not long before.
We marched into a wide hall that might have held banquets once. No one was to be seen now but our little army of a hundred -- all we had left, the three of us, after the long wars. A greycloak guard lay on the floor with many arrows in him. I had not seen one of our kind killed by our kind in many years, but it looked just the same as if an ork had done it.
"Divide forces," Morifinwë said. "Tyela, take the downward stairs with fifty. I will search the upper levels. Curse them, they have it somewhere here. I feel it." The hall's vaults echoed to his voice.
"If we meet in the dark," Tyela said, "let the watchword be our father's name."
#
In moments we were moving down the stairs, arrows to string, spears and swords in hand. There had been no question that I would go with Tyela. I stayed just behind him, in the shadow of his shield.
The greycloaks had not extinguished the torches that lit the stairs. I thought they must have fled so fast they had no time to darken the way.
When we had descended for some time, above the echoing tread of a hundred feet came crashes, booms and war-cries from above. Morifinwë had found the greycloaks. "Keep on," Tyela commanded. "We can help h im best by going where these thieves do not expect us."
Sweat ran down my face inside my helmet. I was no warrior, though I played the part as well as I could. Ordinarily I made the weapons, and then shot arrows from the fringe of battle while heroes like Tyela won the day. (Sometimes, as on one particularly ill-remembered occasion--damn the smirking roundear and his quick dodge!--I missed.) But this assault was different. Victory was close, for it was here.
It was here. I could feel it. It called to me.
At the bottom of the stairs passageways branched in several directions. "Can you tell. . ." said Tyela, leaning close to me.
"No. It's here, but. . ."
"This way, then." Tyela strode into the widest passageway. I followed on his heels. Our warriors strode behind us.
There were no torches here. Some of the advance and rearguard lit lanterns, slave-lamps we called them, shining with a thin blue beam. Yet as we marched these lanterns guttered and failed us one by one.
Then someone screamed in the dark behind us.
Fighting in near-dark, lit only by the blue flicker of the last lantern on swift mithril blades. Fighting an enemy who struck at will, out of side-passages, out of openings in the roof. We tried to keep pressing forward. The tunnel narrowed. The walls and floor roughened. Arrows flew from before and behind and I do not know how the greycloaks could see, except they had some sorcery or knew the tunnels like a rat its den.
The tunnel rang with screams and stank of blood. I could not breathe in the airless dark. I stumbled and fell to my knees. Tyela dragged me up. "Run!"
We ran.
The last of our warriors died shrieking with an arrow in his eye.
They had spared my brother and I for something else.
Tyela pulled me by the hand -- I had long since dropped my sword -- through black tunnels. Rocks scraped on our armor so we could not hear. Blind, I would have been knocked senseless had my helm not saved me. As it was I ached and reeled.
We came to silence and stopped, panting. We could see nothing at all. Blackness: the earthly intimation of a greater void. My soul screamed for light. "Tyela," I said, "Tyela, all our brave mesnie gone, and I feel. . .I fear they have killed Morifinwë."
"Maybe not." I heard no conviction in his voice. "At least we've outdistanced the filth--"
Something smashed down with a brutal bang and our world shook. I cried out and clutched at Tyela.
"Wait," he said, rough-breathed, and stepped away from me. In a moment I heard, "They've blocked the way. A great stone. And--" Metal scraped in the dark. "The other way as well. We cannot get out."
"We are prisoners, then." I trembled.
"No," Tyela said, and the darkness filled his voice. "Listen."
I listened.
Water trickled.
"They would not," I pleaded, "they are not orks, they would kill us but not trap us here and--"
I felt cold water rise above my ankles.
"Take off your armor," Tyela said, "take it off, it may help, hurry!"
I struggled out of my mail and cast my helm aside and now the water was up to my knees. "Tyela!"
I felt his arms around me. How different now from laughing embraces in the sun, from wine and caresses in our chamber when the stars shone kindly through the open vault. "Don't be afraid," he said.
My breath came in desperate gasps. I clung to him. Cold water rose around us. "I don't--Tyela, I don't want to die like this, I'm afraid to die, and to face the gods--"
"The gods will see our valor and be ashamed." I could feel his heartbeat s hake his body and the water reached my waist.
"They'll cast us into the Outer Dark!" I called into the black, "You, Menegroth's defender! We surrender! We are your prisoners."
No one answered. The water rose. I began to cry, helpless. Tyela embraced me. "Don't be afraid," he said. "We'll be together."
When the water reached my face I screamed and clawed at the rocks above me, ripping my fingers open, hearing bones splinter. I heard my lungs and Tyela's straining for one last breath.
Then agony and flailing in the dark.
#
Tyela was wrong. We are not together. I miss him. I miss all my kin, but my most beloved brother above them all. The gods passed sentence. I am no longer who I was.
I write this in exile that will never end.
--Kurufinwë
We should have known it was not so easy as that. Over the bleeding bodies of a few defenders, we stepped into Menegroth. Morifinwë led us, a shade in his black armor. I stayed close by Tyela's side and my hands sweated in my gauntlets. It seemed wrong that Maitimo was not here to lead us. He did not know we had chosen this attack.
I could see the marks of old fires on the walls and I thought the greycloaks must be weakened by their war with the naugrim not long before.
We marched into a wide hall that might have held banquets once. No one was to be seen now but our little army of a hundred -- all we had left, the three of us, after the long wars. A greycloak guard lay on the floor with many arrows in him. I had not seen one of our kind killed by our kind in many years, but it looked just the same as if an ork had done it.
"Divide forces," Morifinwë said. "Tyela, take the downward stairs with fifty. I will search the upper levels. Curse them, they have it somewhere here. I feel it." The hall's vaults echoed to his voice.
"If we meet in the dark," Tyela said, "let the watchword be our father's name."
#
In moments we were moving down the stairs, arrows to string, spears and swords in hand. There had been no question that I would go with Tyela. I stayed just behind him, in the shadow of his shield.
The greycloaks had not extinguished the torches that lit the stairs. I thought they must have fled so fast they had no time to darken the way.
When we had descended for some time, above the echoing tread of a hundred feet came crashes, booms and war-cries from above. Morifinwë had found the greycloaks. "Keep on," Tyela commanded. "We can help h im best by going where these thieves do not expect us."
Sweat ran down my face inside my helmet. I was no warrior, though I played the part as well as I could. Ordinarily I made the weapons, and then shot arrows from the fringe of battle while heroes like Tyela won the day. (Sometimes, as on one particularly ill-remembered occasion--damn the smirking roundear and his quick dodge!--I missed.) But this assault was different. Victory was close, for it was here.
It was here. I could feel it. It called to me.
At the bottom of the stairs passageways branched in several directions. "Can you tell. . ." said Tyela, leaning close to me.
"No. It's here, but. . ."
"This way, then." Tyela strode into the widest passageway. I followed on his heels. Our warriors strode behind us.
There were no torches here. Some of the advance and rearguard lit lanterns, slave-lamps we called them, shining with a thin blue beam. Yet as we marched these lanterns guttered and failed us one by one.
Then someone screamed in the dark behind us.
Fighting in near-dark, lit only by the blue flicker of the last lantern on swift mithril blades. Fighting an enemy who struck at will, out of side-passages, out of openings in the roof. We tried to keep pressing forward. The tunnel narrowed. The walls and floor roughened. Arrows flew from before and behind and I do not know how the greycloaks could see, except they had some sorcery or knew the tunnels like a rat its den.
The tunnel rang with screams and stank of blood. I could not breathe in the airless dark. I stumbled and fell to my knees. Tyela dragged me up. "Run!"
We ran.
The last of our warriors died shrieking with an arrow in his eye.
They had spared my brother and I for something else.
Tyela pulled me by the hand -- I had long since dropped my sword -- through black tunnels. Rocks scraped on our armor so we could not hear. Blind, I would have been knocked senseless had my helm not saved me. As it was I ached and reeled.
We came to silence and stopped, panting. We could see nothing at all. Blackness: the earthly intimation of a greater void. My soul screamed for light. "Tyela," I said, "Tyela, all our brave mesnie gone, and I feel. . .I fear they have killed Morifinwë."
"Maybe not." I heard no conviction in his voice. "At least we've outdistanced the filth--"
Something smashed down with a brutal bang and our world shook. I cried out and clutched at Tyela.
"Wait," he said, rough-breathed, and stepped away from me. In a moment I heard, "They've blocked the way. A great stone. And--" Metal scraped in the dark. "The other way as well. We cannot get out."
"We are prisoners, then." I trembled.
"No," Tyela said, and the darkness filled his voice. "Listen."
I listened.
Water trickled.
"They would not," I pleaded, "they are not orks, they would kill us but not trap us here and--"
I felt cold water rise above my ankles.
"Take off your armor," Tyela said, "take it off, it may help, hurry!"
I struggled out of my mail and cast my helm aside and now the water was up to my knees. "Tyela!"
I felt his arms around me. How different now from laughing embraces in the sun, from wine and caresses in our chamber when the stars shone kindly through the open vault. "Don't be afraid," he said.
My breath came in desperate gasps. I clung to him. Cold water rose around us. "I don't--Tyela, I don't want to die like this, I'm afraid to die, and to face the gods--"
"The gods will see our valor and be ashamed." I could feel his heartbeat s hake his body and the water reached my waist.
"They'll cast us into the Outer Dark!" I called into the black, "You, Menegroth's defender! We surrender! We are your prisoners."
No one answered. The water rose. I began to cry, helpless. Tyela embraced me. "Don't be afraid," he said. "We'll be together."
When the water reached my face I screamed and clawed at the rocks above me, ripping my fingers open, hearing bones splinter. I heard my lungs and Tyela's straining for one last breath.
Then agony and flailing in the dark.
#
Tyela was wrong. We are not together. I miss him. I miss all my kin, but my most beloved brother above them all. The gods passed sentence. I am no longer who I was.
I write this in exile that will never end.
--Kurufinwë