Well, here's the fifth one – told you I was going on a posting spree! We
will see exactly how far it goes...
________________________________________________________________
Chapter Five - Faces of the Moon
It was not even dawn when the four men came to get them to tie behind the horses for another days' walking. They grinned as they manhandled the pair to one of the horses, being non too gentle about the pressure of their grasp on their tired flesh. For they were tired now - the two nights of inadequate sleep were beginning to tell on them. Both had bags beneath their eyes and pale skin ... but their minds were primed.
Aragorn was held by the shoulders by one of the Wild Men as his companion got the rope ready to bind to his wrists, which were now before him. There was no other pair of hands on him, and he watched the back of the other turn before he made his move.
Gimli was being treated like-wise to himself, standing with - again - one man behind.
'Now, Gimli!'
Aragorn's skull snapped back into the face of his enemy with such force it made his head spin. But he had no time to worry about a little temporary dizziness, and Aragorn kicked the heel of his boot into the mans' shin as he bellowed in pain and clutched at his mouth - which frothed with blood, as Aragorn's head had hit and consequently broken his teeth.
The Dwarf, being not tall enough to inflict injury like that, elbowed his guard in the groin with a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes. The guard did not howl out with his agony as Aragorn's had done, but collapsed to the earth, red in the face and gasping like a fish out of water, clutching at the pain in his delicate area.
Gimli laughed with glee at the damage he had inflicted on the Man, and instantly went to work doing exactly the same to the one whom had been preparing the rope.
Aragorn brought his bound fists up to bash the surprised rope man in the jaw as he turned, delivering another kick to the shin. As he went down, Gimli gladly dealt a blow to the back of the head before he began to run after Aragorn from the camp.
Somehow the air smelled sweeter as they made their escape into the trees, the scent of sap reaching their nostrils, filling both Man and Dwarf with an almost elven appreciation for the beauty of a forest during summer. The birds offered their songs to the air in force ... but they could not drown out the beat of hooves.
Running with bound hands made them move clumsily, slow, allowing the horses to gain upon them, and the last thing Aragorn saw was Gimli being struck round the back of the head as something cracked across his own skull.
***
He had a headache. That was what made him come round - the pounding in his head. For one moment he had thought that it was the very hooves of the horses galloping over him. He realised that there were no horses running over his head; more like he was sat atop of one, his hands bound behind his back. He was unable to move his feet, as they were tied tightly with a rope that passed beneath the girth of the horse. That was a clever restraint, he admitted to himself. He doubted somewhat that the Wild Men had come up with that one.
He turned his head round - with a huge protestation from the back of his neck - to observe Gimli, whom had been placed on the beast behind him. The poor Dwarf's face was full of rapt nerve. He was tied in a similar way to Aragorn, and it did nothing for his anxiety of horseback riding to be so restricted - he could not even grasp the saddle horn. It had been bad enough when he had ridden Arod with Legolas, but at least then he had had the Elf's waist to grasp.
The light of day was waning, and with it that precious little hope that Aragorn had preserved after Legolas' death. Their guard was going to be more attentive after their failed attempt at freedom. Unless the whole company was struck by lightening - unlikely - then they had no hope left in the world.
"There had certainly been something to send out a scouting party for," he thought with great animosity. He allowed himself to ponder with no real commitment about how Wormtongue had got out of Orthanc, more for something else to think about than the depressing thoughts that circled about his head rather than to satisfy his actual interest.
They were entering a great basin in the land, judging by the gradually increasing gradient of the earth's slope. It had probably been filled by a great lake long ago, he thought, for there were great boulders far bigger than any horse lying carelessly about the place, randomly situated on the forest floor.
The trees were no less dense here, however, so the company was constantly forced to weave between them, keeping careful eyes on the ground.
So deep was he in his own thoughts that he received a shock when the trees parted suddenly to reveal an artificial clearing, into which they rode. It was obvious what the trees had been felled for. There was a large scorch in the centre where a fire had burned. The grass was trampled, and upon it lay the numerous carcasses of animals, bones bare from either the gnawing of teeth or of time in the summers' heat. The whole place held a stink to it that indicated to him that it had been used by Orcs, and they had left either only today or fairly recently.
But it was to something at the opposite side of the clearing that Aragorn's attention was drawn: a great pit he could see, so pitch it appeared to swallow all daylight - which, admittedly, was not very strong.
Gríma rode up beside him, and, following the line of vision of the other, gave a brief chuckle.
'I hope you like it,' he said darkly. 'Being a Ranger of the North it should suit you perfectly.'
Aragorn shot the little man a glare at that, but then offered his attention back to the hole.
'We shall have no more imbecilic escape attempts from you, Ranger,' Gríma continued to hiss. 'I doubt if even an Elf could get out of there-' he cast a sidelong glance at Aragorn '-but, of course, there is no Elf here anymore, is there?'
Aragorn refused to answer, but that did not mean that the words did not chafe at his soul.
'Take them down!' As soon as he had barked the order, Gríma rode off to the other end of the clearing to direct the construction of his tent, leaving his followers to partially unbind their captives and walk them over. There were no hands on them this time: swords tips were pressed into their backs instead.
Upon coming to the pit, both Man and Dwarf observed that it was a good fifteen feet deep: too deep even for two full-sized men to stand on shoulders and get out, which was doubtless a deliberate happening in the design of it.
The bonds on their wrists were cut, and both instantly brought their limbs forward to where they should naturally be, stretching their shoulders, which clicked audibly with this new freedom.
But the blades at their backs were pressed in harder, which caused them to wince.
One of the Wild Men stood before them, a coil of rope in his hand. He tied one end to the stump of a tree before throwing the rest down into the darkness.
'Go down,' he instructed them. Aragorn made to grasp the rope when the guard grabbed his shoulder in a grip that could have rivalled a dragon's.
'No trying to escape,' he warned, flashing a set of blackened teeth at him and sending a wave of stench from his mouth over Aragorn, so strong that it nearly caused him to gag. But Aragorn resisted the urge, steeling his stomach against it. He gave a slow, contemptuous blink and shrugged the hand off before he made his ascent into the black, awaiting Gimli at the bottom.
Night had cast its cloak over them in only a couple of hours after they had been placed in this earthen cell. The moon rode high in the sky, and her silver rays managing to delve even into this dank cavity in the earth. Aragorn was sat in the full beam of it, bathed in ghostly light. Gimli slept in the shadow where the moon did not yet touch. His grief had worn him out, and Aragorn hoped that he found solace in sleep that no word could give him during waking. As for Aragorn, he could not sleep, not even if he had wished to. His depressed thoughts plagued him too much for him to, and he had even stopped paying any heed to the guards' banter above their heads...
'Don't be stupid,' the one named Hasnef scoffed. 'You can't get a pack of deers - it's a flock of deers. Like sheep, only different-'
'Actually,' interjected Benthro, who was the youngest out of the five situated about the watch-fire, 'it's a herd - and they're not "deers", they're "deer."'
'Don't blame me for the fact that I'm a bit off the mark tonight,' snapped Hasnef. 'Blame him-' he gestured to the pit, referring to Aragorn. He had been leaning over the lip of the earth to mock them and - to his surprise - had received a well-aimed rock hurled at his forehead.
'As I was saying,' continued Grilden, whose terming it was that was being scrutinised by the others, a bite of impatience in his tone, 'I killed a whole her-'
'Ssshh!'
'Don't you dare hush me, Benthro!'
'No, listen,' replied the other, his voice lowered as if he feared being overheard. 'I hear singing.'
Intrigued by this, the others silenced themselves. At first they heard nothing, then the words entered their ears also.
''Tis not in Westron,' said Benthro. ''Sounds like Elfish-'
'"Elvish!"'
'Shut up!'
The words were clearer now, light and beautiful, yet strong and haunting they were, captivating in their soft tone that none of them had heard before in their lives...
'Ai! Laurië lantar lassi súrinen, yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!'
Some part of Aragorn that was not submerged in thought heard the song. He knew it, and knew it well, and he too began to sing it softly under his breath, though it never really registered with him what he was hearing or singing. He remained sat in the damp, still ignoring the Wild Men, still singing along absent-mindedly.
'We have to go and hunt them out, whoever it is that sings,' suggested Grilden, somewhat reluctantly.
'-Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier mi oromardi lissi-miruvóreva-'
'And who will look after the prisoners?'
'What is there to look after? They can't get out, and we'd be betraying our orders if we didn't go out there.'
'-andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar'
'Fine - we split into two groups: Grilden and Benthro in one, myself, Mensel and Jesneth in the other,' announced Hasnef. He grabbed a piece of burning branch for a torch and headed off into the trees, the ones he had appointed to himself following him and the other group close behind, also carrying a torch and weapons.
'-nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni ómaryo airetári-lírinen.'
'Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?' The voice had continued while they arranged themselves, and, unless their ears deceived them, it changed position when they were in the trees.
'I don't like this,' Benthro frowned. 'It's too suspicious - we should go back for the others.'
'And let them escape? I think not - go back if you are too afraid, boy!' '-An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo-'
'It's moving away!'
In the danger of loosing their quarry, they pressed on, taking no record of where they went for when they decided to go back, just following the mystical voice...
'-ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë, ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë; ar sindanóriello caita mornië i falmalinnar imbë met, ar hísië untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.
'Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!
'Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar. Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!'
Aragorn lifted his head to see a cloaked figure leaning over the lip of their enclosure again, and, as he looked up, there came a soft laugh from beneath the hood. He was fed up of this mockery, and grasped another rock. This time he would not aim to stun. The rock sailed through the air like an arrow, flying straight for the head of the offender. A hand snaked out in a lightening-speed reflex action, snatching the stone from before the face of the figure. Aragorn stared wide-eyed at the one who still held the failed missile before him.
'I have played Death's game twice of late and beaten Him, mellon nin - I do not think He shall be so forgiving a third time round.'
He could not believe his ears - surely it could not be true? But that did not prevent him from rising to his feet and saying in a disbelieving whisper that was surely audible in Mirkwood:
'Legolas?'
'Ssshh!'
The head of the figure twisted from side to side, apparently checking to see if any were coming before he turned back to Aragorn. 'Hello.'
TRANSLATIONS
'Ai! Laurië lantar lassi súrinen,
yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!
Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier
mi oromardi lissi-miruvóreva
andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar
nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni
ómaryo airetári-lírinen.
Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?
An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo
ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë,
ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë;
ar sindanóriello caita mornië
i falmalinnar imbë met, ar hísië
untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.
Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!
'Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar.
Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!
Ah! Like gold fall the leaves in the wind,
Long years numberless as the wings of trees!
The years have passed like swift draughts of the sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the West,
beneath the blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly.
Who now shall refill the cup for me?
For now the Kindler, Varda, the queen of the Stars,
from Mount Everwhite has uplifted her hands like clouds,
and all paths are drowned deep in shadow;
and out of a grey country darkness lies on the foaming waves between us,
and mist covers the jewels of Calacirya for ever.
Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar! Farewell!
Maybe thou shalt find Valimar. Maybe even thou shalt find it.
Farewell!
Mellon nin - My friend
Chapter Five - Faces of the Moon
It was not even dawn when the four men came to get them to tie behind the horses for another days' walking. They grinned as they manhandled the pair to one of the horses, being non too gentle about the pressure of their grasp on their tired flesh. For they were tired now - the two nights of inadequate sleep were beginning to tell on them. Both had bags beneath their eyes and pale skin ... but their minds were primed.
Aragorn was held by the shoulders by one of the Wild Men as his companion got the rope ready to bind to his wrists, which were now before him. There was no other pair of hands on him, and he watched the back of the other turn before he made his move.
Gimli was being treated like-wise to himself, standing with - again - one man behind.
'Now, Gimli!'
Aragorn's skull snapped back into the face of his enemy with such force it made his head spin. But he had no time to worry about a little temporary dizziness, and Aragorn kicked the heel of his boot into the mans' shin as he bellowed in pain and clutched at his mouth - which frothed with blood, as Aragorn's head had hit and consequently broken his teeth.
The Dwarf, being not tall enough to inflict injury like that, elbowed his guard in the groin with a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes. The guard did not howl out with his agony as Aragorn's had done, but collapsed to the earth, red in the face and gasping like a fish out of water, clutching at the pain in his delicate area.
Gimli laughed with glee at the damage he had inflicted on the Man, and instantly went to work doing exactly the same to the one whom had been preparing the rope.
Aragorn brought his bound fists up to bash the surprised rope man in the jaw as he turned, delivering another kick to the shin. As he went down, Gimli gladly dealt a blow to the back of the head before he began to run after Aragorn from the camp.
Somehow the air smelled sweeter as they made their escape into the trees, the scent of sap reaching their nostrils, filling both Man and Dwarf with an almost elven appreciation for the beauty of a forest during summer. The birds offered their songs to the air in force ... but they could not drown out the beat of hooves.
Running with bound hands made them move clumsily, slow, allowing the horses to gain upon them, and the last thing Aragorn saw was Gimli being struck round the back of the head as something cracked across his own skull.
***
He had a headache. That was what made him come round - the pounding in his head. For one moment he had thought that it was the very hooves of the horses galloping over him. He realised that there were no horses running over his head; more like he was sat atop of one, his hands bound behind his back. He was unable to move his feet, as they were tied tightly with a rope that passed beneath the girth of the horse. That was a clever restraint, he admitted to himself. He doubted somewhat that the Wild Men had come up with that one.
He turned his head round - with a huge protestation from the back of his neck - to observe Gimli, whom had been placed on the beast behind him. The poor Dwarf's face was full of rapt nerve. He was tied in a similar way to Aragorn, and it did nothing for his anxiety of horseback riding to be so restricted - he could not even grasp the saddle horn. It had been bad enough when he had ridden Arod with Legolas, but at least then he had had the Elf's waist to grasp.
The light of day was waning, and with it that precious little hope that Aragorn had preserved after Legolas' death. Their guard was going to be more attentive after their failed attempt at freedom. Unless the whole company was struck by lightening - unlikely - then they had no hope left in the world.
"There had certainly been something to send out a scouting party for," he thought with great animosity. He allowed himself to ponder with no real commitment about how Wormtongue had got out of Orthanc, more for something else to think about than the depressing thoughts that circled about his head rather than to satisfy his actual interest.
They were entering a great basin in the land, judging by the gradually increasing gradient of the earth's slope. It had probably been filled by a great lake long ago, he thought, for there were great boulders far bigger than any horse lying carelessly about the place, randomly situated on the forest floor.
The trees were no less dense here, however, so the company was constantly forced to weave between them, keeping careful eyes on the ground.
So deep was he in his own thoughts that he received a shock when the trees parted suddenly to reveal an artificial clearing, into which they rode. It was obvious what the trees had been felled for. There was a large scorch in the centre where a fire had burned. The grass was trampled, and upon it lay the numerous carcasses of animals, bones bare from either the gnawing of teeth or of time in the summers' heat. The whole place held a stink to it that indicated to him that it had been used by Orcs, and they had left either only today or fairly recently.
But it was to something at the opposite side of the clearing that Aragorn's attention was drawn: a great pit he could see, so pitch it appeared to swallow all daylight - which, admittedly, was not very strong.
Gríma rode up beside him, and, following the line of vision of the other, gave a brief chuckle.
'I hope you like it,' he said darkly. 'Being a Ranger of the North it should suit you perfectly.'
Aragorn shot the little man a glare at that, but then offered his attention back to the hole.
'We shall have no more imbecilic escape attempts from you, Ranger,' Gríma continued to hiss. 'I doubt if even an Elf could get out of there-' he cast a sidelong glance at Aragorn '-but, of course, there is no Elf here anymore, is there?'
Aragorn refused to answer, but that did not mean that the words did not chafe at his soul.
'Take them down!' As soon as he had barked the order, Gríma rode off to the other end of the clearing to direct the construction of his tent, leaving his followers to partially unbind their captives and walk them over. There were no hands on them this time: swords tips were pressed into their backs instead.
Upon coming to the pit, both Man and Dwarf observed that it was a good fifteen feet deep: too deep even for two full-sized men to stand on shoulders and get out, which was doubtless a deliberate happening in the design of it.
The bonds on their wrists were cut, and both instantly brought their limbs forward to where they should naturally be, stretching their shoulders, which clicked audibly with this new freedom.
But the blades at their backs were pressed in harder, which caused them to wince.
One of the Wild Men stood before them, a coil of rope in his hand. He tied one end to the stump of a tree before throwing the rest down into the darkness.
'Go down,' he instructed them. Aragorn made to grasp the rope when the guard grabbed his shoulder in a grip that could have rivalled a dragon's.
'No trying to escape,' he warned, flashing a set of blackened teeth at him and sending a wave of stench from his mouth over Aragorn, so strong that it nearly caused him to gag. But Aragorn resisted the urge, steeling his stomach against it. He gave a slow, contemptuous blink and shrugged the hand off before he made his ascent into the black, awaiting Gimli at the bottom.
Night had cast its cloak over them in only a couple of hours after they had been placed in this earthen cell. The moon rode high in the sky, and her silver rays managing to delve even into this dank cavity in the earth. Aragorn was sat in the full beam of it, bathed in ghostly light. Gimli slept in the shadow where the moon did not yet touch. His grief had worn him out, and Aragorn hoped that he found solace in sleep that no word could give him during waking. As for Aragorn, he could not sleep, not even if he had wished to. His depressed thoughts plagued him too much for him to, and he had even stopped paying any heed to the guards' banter above their heads...
'Don't be stupid,' the one named Hasnef scoffed. 'You can't get a pack of deers - it's a flock of deers. Like sheep, only different-'
'Actually,' interjected Benthro, who was the youngest out of the five situated about the watch-fire, 'it's a herd - and they're not "deers", they're "deer."'
'Don't blame me for the fact that I'm a bit off the mark tonight,' snapped Hasnef. 'Blame him-' he gestured to the pit, referring to Aragorn. He had been leaning over the lip of the earth to mock them and - to his surprise - had received a well-aimed rock hurled at his forehead.
'As I was saying,' continued Grilden, whose terming it was that was being scrutinised by the others, a bite of impatience in his tone, 'I killed a whole her-'
'Ssshh!'
'Don't you dare hush me, Benthro!'
'No, listen,' replied the other, his voice lowered as if he feared being overheard. 'I hear singing.'
Intrigued by this, the others silenced themselves. At first they heard nothing, then the words entered their ears also.
''Tis not in Westron,' said Benthro. ''Sounds like Elfish-'
'"Elvish!"'
'Shut up!'
The words were clearer now, light and beautiful, yet strong and haunting they were, captivating in their soft tone that none of them had heard before in their lives...
'Ai! Laurië lantar lassi súrinen, yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!'
Some part of Aragorn that was not submerged in thought heard the song. He knew it, and knew it well, and he too began to sing it softly under his breath, though it never really registered with him what he was hearing or singing. He remained sat in the damp, still ignoring the Wild Men, still singing along absent-mindedly.
'We have to go and hunt them out, whoever it is that sings,' suggested Grilden, somewhat reluctantly.
'-Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier mi oromardi lissi-miruvóreva-'
'And who will look after the prisoners?'
'What is there to look after? They can't get out, and we'd be betraying our orders if we didn't go out there.'
'-andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar'
'Fine - we split into two groups: Grilden and Benthro in one, myself, Mensel and Jesneth in the other,' announced Hasnef. He grabbed a piece of burning branch for a torch and headed off into the trees, the ones he had appointed to himself following him and the other group close behind, also carrying a torch and weapons.
'-nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni ómaryo airetári-lírinen.'
'Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?' The voice had continued while they arranged themselves, and, unless their ears deceived them, it changed position when they were in the trees.
'I don't like this,' Benthro frowned. 'It's too suspicious - we should go back for the others.'
'And let them escape? I think not - go back if you are too afraid, boy!' '-An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo-'
'It's moving away!'
In the danger of loosing their quarry, they pressed on, taking no record of where they went for when they decided to go back, just following the mystical voice...
'-ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë, ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë; ar sindanóriello caita mornië i falmalinnar imbë met, ar hísië untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.
'Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!
'Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar. Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!'
Aragorn lifted his head to see a cloaked figure leaning over the lip of their enclosure again, and, as he looked up, there came a soft laugh from beneath the hood. He was fed up of this mockery, and grasped another rock. This time he would not aim to stun. The rock sailed through the air like an arrow, flying straight for the head of the offender. A hand snaked out in a lightening-speed reflex action, snatching the stone from before the face of the figure. Aragorn stared wide-eyed at the one who still held the failed missile before him.
'I have played Death's game twice of late and beaten Him, mellon nin - I do not think He shall be so forgiving a third time round.'
He could not believe his ears - surely it could not be true? But that did not prevent him from rising to his feet and saying in a disbelieving whisper that was surely audible in Mirkwood:
'Legolas?'
'Ssshh!'
The head of the figure twisted from side to side, apparently checking to see if any were coming before he turned back to Aragorn. 'Hello.'
TRANSLATIONS
'Ai! Laurië lantar lassi súrinen,
yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!
Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier
mi oromardi lissi-miruvóreva
andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar
nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni
ómaryo airetári-lírinen.
Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?
An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo
ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë,
ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë;
ar sindanóriello caita mornië
i falmalinnar imbë met, ar hísië
untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.
Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!
'Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar.
Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!
Ah! Like gold fall the leaves in the wind,
Long years numberless as the wings of trees!
The years have passed like swift draughts of the sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the West,
beneath the blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly.
Who now shall refill the cup for me?
For now the Kindler, Varda, the queen of the Stars,
from Mount Everwhite has uplifted her hands like clouds,
and all paths are drowned deep in shadow;
and out of a grey country darkness lies on the foaming waves between us,
and mist covers the jewels of Calacirya for ever.
Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar! Farewell!
Maybe thou shalt find Valimar. Maybe even thou shalt find it.
Farewell!
Mellon nin - My friend