Chapter 8: Battle at the Roof of the World
The landscape was a drear, grey, featureless desert of ice and rock. Riven with cracks and rent by crevasses bleeding noisome vapours it was as inhospitable an environment as could be found anywhere on Middle-earth. Nothing lived here, the last vestiges of life eked out a miserable existence many miles to the south or deep underground where it was warmer. Living beasts found little sympathy in the harsh biting cold of Forodwaith. Yet winding between the twisted and wind blasted ice pinnacles were tracks, still fresh ...
It was now many months that had passed since Aragorn, Arwen, Legolas and Gimli had pledged to journey Northwards and recover the Elven sword Ringil from its rumoured resting place. Driven to this desperate undertaking by fear of Sauron reclaiming the One Ring, it seemed that their journey was destined to end here. Their path had forced them along an ancient road, towering ice cliffs rose on one side, a fathomless cravasse on the other. Bitter snows had blinded them for days and hailstorms had driven them to their knees, and now, food was running out.
A bright fire burned in one of the caves which pockmarked the cliff. Caution against being seen had long been forgotten - if one wanted to survive a night in this place, heat was a necessity. Besides, nothing was around to see, or so they hoped. The small party huddled close to the meagre blaze which a few long-dead trees had afforded. Although they had been heavy hearted of late, with the finding and following of the old road, their spirits had lifted, and in celebration Aragorn and Gimli were smoking the last of their pipe-weed together. The road would hopefully lead them to the Dome of Fire or at least to a clue as to its whereabouts. If not, it made for quicker journeying anyway.
Aragorns face lit up briefly with the glow from his pipe. He looked across the fire to Gimli. "We are nearing the end of our journey, I can feel it. Soon we shall reclaim the Sword, and then leave this land to its ghosts."
He shivered and Arwen stirred restlessly on his shoulder, before slipping into deeper sleep again. Legolas looked at her, "How is the Lady faring, Aragorn?"
"Not well," was the reply, "the cold seems to be getting to her more than us. Yet she has always refused to turn back, even when you offered to take her back to Rivendell, Legolas. I hope for her sake this is over soon." There was an uneasy silence for a while, then Gimli snorted: "Hmpf, perhaps a Ranger can live on naught but snow and bark, but a Dwarf needs more! I would gladly face Sauron and all his horde for a platter of mutton and a keg of malt beer!"
The Ranger smiled, "Do not speak words of ill omen, friend Gimli, for if we fail here your wish might come true. But fear not, we have food for a few days yet, and we should be on the return journey by then." He leaned over to pick up one of the arrowshafts Legolas had been carving. "With luck we will not need these," he muttered to himself.
"But it is best to be prepared." he added as an afterthought.
As the Sun set behind the White Mountains, the last of its rays hit the walls of Minas Tirith and made them glow briefly, before the gloom of dusk settled over the city.
"The last Sun has set on the City of Men," mused Gandalf, "I pray it may withstand to see the dawn once more."
A flock of ravens, Saruman's spies, had reported a mighty army of Mordor leaving the Black Gate, and now an unnatural darkness was rolling towards the City on the fell winds of the Black Land. Matters were taking a grim turn for the worse.
Dawn's pale fingers crept into the cave, over the slumbering companions and the embers of their fire. Wearily they rose, their outer garments cracking with frost, and rubbed life back into chilled limbs. Camp - what there was of it - was broken, and they set out upon the trail once more. However there was a lingering disquiet among the group.
Legolas was the most uneasy. He kept scanning the immense cliffs above and the road ahead and behind, but saw nothing. Aragorn noticed this and fell into step with his friend, "I sense it too, it is as if we are being watched. Malice lies heavy in the air." The Elf sighed, "I cannot see anything, but I know something is wrong. However there is little we can do except press onwards." Aragorn nodded and they continued in silence for a while. Just ahead of them Arwen stumbled over a broken flagstone and almost fell. Aragorn seized her arm and began to help her up but she shook him off violently and snapped: "Let go of me!" He recoiled, startled, and her expression softened. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I didn't mean that, I just ..." She broke off and looked up, startled, as did everyone. What had started as a low rumble swiftly built into an echoing roar and they saw with horror that parts of the cliff above were moving!
"Landslide!" roared Aragorn as he yanked Arwen out of the way just in time. They ran back the way they had come, as thousands of tons of ice and rock smashed into the road and poured over the side. However a second cascade blocked off the retreat and the four companions were forced to huddle against the cliff to shelter from the deadly hail of ice. Chunks hitting the road exploded into shards which whizzed through the air and rattled off the cliff. Fortunately the fall was short-lived. It slowed to a trickle and then ceased, but now that the noise had stopped an all too familiar sound reached their ears. Looking up the cliff side they saw dozens of figures scampering nimbly down the sheer edge. Aragorn looked up at them in despair, he remembered their like from the dark halls of Moria. As he stared the shrill yammering and bleating of the goblins echoed in triumph - they had their quarry caught. A sharp twang startled the Ranger out of his reverie. With a shrill scream one of the goblins fell from the cliff and bounced onto the road with a sickening crunch. Legolas loosed another arrow, but then the shrieking foes were onto the path and gleefully engaging the weary travellers. Gimli hefted his axe and waded in to start lopping heads left and right. Aragorn's sword swung whistling through the air, meeting its mark every time. Legolas had changed to his two long knives and was a whirling demon of fury, each dead goblin a testament to the long feud between their races.
Arwen however was beginning to have problems. Having drawn her father's sword she had dispatched a few of the enemy with ease and sent another sailing off the road into the yawning crevasse with a well timed kick. Now she saw that she was becoming seperated from her friends. Whether by accident or design, the swarming goblins were beginning to enclose her against the cliff. Yelling for help she started to hack her way industriously back to her companions who were now aware of her danger. But then the goblins struck.
From the cliff above, one jumped onto her back, forcing her to pinwheel her arms wildly for balance. Then her feet were knocked out from under her and she fell heavily into the snow. More descended from the cliff, one jumped onto her chest and leered at her. "Get off me you vermin!" she hissed and slammed the hilt of her sword into its face sending it flying, but by then the biting chittering mob was all over her in a flurry of heat and sudden weight. Faintly she heard the yells of the others coming to her aid but they were too far. Something yanked at her sword but she held on grimly and tried to rise. Then clawed hands held her sword-arm down and she felt long teeth bury themselves in her wrist. Arwen squealed and let go. She struggled to her knees but was felled to the ground again, the breath knocked sharply out of her, and she lay still for a second - winded. Then there was a weight upon her back and cold, rough hands wrapped themselves around her throat and squeezed tightly. She struggled, but in vain, and the waiting darkness flowed in front of her eyes and took her.
The landscape was a drear, grey, featureless desert of ice and rock. Riven with cracks and rent by crevasses bleeding noisome vapours it was as inhospitable an environment as could be found anywhere on Middle-earth. Nothing lived here, the last vestiges of life eked out a miserable existence many miles to the south or deep underground where it was warmer. Living beasts found little sympathy in the harsh biting cold of Forodwaith. Yet winding between the twisted and wind blasted ice pinnacles were tracks, still fresh ...
It was now many months that had passed since Aragorn, Arwen, Legolas and Gimli had pledged to journey Northwards and recover the Elven sword Ringil from its rumoured resting place. Driven to this desperate undertaking by fear of Sauron reclaiming the One Ring, it seemed that their journey was destined to end here. Their path had forced them along an ancient road, towering ice cliffs rose on one side, a fathomless cravasse on the other. Bitter snows had blinded them for days and hailstorms had driven them to their knees, and now, food was running out.
A bright fire burned in one of the caves which pockmarked the cliff. Caution against being seen had long been forgotten - if one wanted to survive a night in this place, heat was a necessity. Besides, nothing was around to see, or so they hoped. The small party huddled close to the meagre blaze which a few long-dead trees had afforded. Although they had been heavy hearted of late, with the finding and following of the old road, their spirits had lifted, and in celebration Aragorn and Gimli were smoking the last of their pipe-weed together. The road would hopefully lead them to the Dome of Fire or at least to a clue as to its whereabouts. If not, it made for quicker journeying anyway.
Aragorns face lit up briefly with the glow from his pipe. He looked across the fire to Gimli. "We are nearing the end of our journey, I can feel it. Soon we shall reclaim the Sword, and then leave this land to its ghosts."
He shivered and Arwen stirred restlessly on his shoulder, before slipping into deeper sleep again. Legolas looked at her, "How is the Lady faring, Aragorn?"
"Not well," was the reply, "the cold seems to be getting to her more than us. Yet she has always refused to turn back, even when you offered to take her back to Rivendell, Legolas. I hope for her sake this is over soon." There was an uneasy silence for a while, then Gimli snorted: "Hmpf, perhaps a Ranger can live on naught but snow and bark, but a Dwarf needs more! I would gladly face Sauron and all his horde for a platter of mutton and a keg of malt beer!"
The Ranger smiled, "Do not speak words of ill omen, friend Gimli, for if we fail here your wish might come true. But fear not, we have food for a few days yet, and we should be on the return journey by then." He leaned over to pick up one of the arrowshafts Legolas had been carving. "With luck we will not need these," he muttered to himself.
"But it is best to be prepared." he added as an afterthought.
As the Sun set behind the White Mountains, the last of its rays hit the walls of Minas Tirith and made them glow briefly, before the gloom of dusk settled over the city.
"The last Sun has set on the City of Men," mused Gandalf, "I pray it may withstand to see the dawn once more."
A flock of ravens, Saruman's spies, had reported a mighty army of Mordor leaving the Black Gate, and now an unnatural darkness was rolling towards the City on the fell winds of the Black Land. Matters were taking a grim turn for the worse.
Dawn's pale fingers crept into the cave, over the slumbering companions and the embers of their fire. Wearily they rose, their outer garments cracking with frost, and rubbed life back into chilled limbs. Camp - what there was of it - was broken, and they set out upon the trail once more. However there was a lingering disquiet among the group.
Legolas was the most uneasy. He kept scanning the immense cliffs above and the road ahead and behind, but saw nothing. Aragorn noticed this and fell into step with his friend, "I sense it too, it is as if we are being watched. Malice lies heavy in the air." The Elf sighed, "I cannot see anything, but I know something is wrong. However there is little we can do except press onwards." Aragorn nodded and they continued in silence for a while. Just ahead of them Arwen stumbled over a broken flagstone and almost fell. Aragorn seized her arm and began to help her up but she shook him off violently and snapped: "Let go of me!" He recoiled, startled, and her expression softened. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I didn't mean that, I just ..." She broke off and looked up, startled, as did everyone. What had started as a low rumble swiftly built into an echoing roar and they saw with horror that parts of the cliff above were moving!
"Landslide!" roared Aragorn as he yanked Arwen out of the way just in time. They ran back the way they had come, as thousands of tons of ice and rock smashed into the road and poured over the side. However a second cascade blocked off the retreat and the four companions were forced to huddle against the cliff to shelter from the deadly hail of ice. Chunks hitting the road exploded into shards which whizzed through the air and rattled off the cliff. Fortunately the fall was short-lived. It slowed to a trickle and then ceased, but now that the noise had stopped an all too familiar sound reached their ears. Looking up the cliff side they saw dozens of figures scampering nimbly down the sheer edge. Aragorn looked up at them in despair, he remembered their like from the dark halls of Moria. As he stared the shrill yammering and bleating of the goblins echoed in triumph - they had their quarry caught. A sharp twang startled the Ranger out of his reverie. With a shrill scream one of the goblins fell from the cliff and bounced onto the road with a sickening crunch. Legolas loosed another arrow, but then the shrieking foes were onto the path and gleefully engaging the weary travellers. Gimli hefted his axe and waded in to start lopping heads left and right. Aragorn's sword swung whistling through the air, meeting its mark every time. Legolas had changed to his two long knives and was a whirling demon of fury, each dead goblin a testament to the long feud between their races.
Arwen however was beginning to have problems. Having drawn her father's sword she had dispatched a few of the enemy with ease and sent another sailing off the road into the yawning crevasse with a well timed kick. Now she saw that she was becoming seperated from her friends. Whether by accident or design, the swarming goblins were beginning to enclose her against the cliff. Yelling for help she started to hack her way industriously back to her companions who were now aware of her danger. But then the goblins struck.
From the cliff above, one jumped onto her back, forcing her to pinwheel her arms wildly for balance. Then her feet were knocked out from under her and she fell heavily into the snow. More descended from the cliff, one jumped onto her chest and leered at her. "Get off me you vermin!" she hissed and slammed the hilt of her sword into its face sending it flying, but by then the biting chittering mob was all over her in a flurry of heat and sudden weight. Faintly she heard the yells of the others coming to her aid but they were too far. Something yanked at her sword but she held on grimly and tried to rise. Then clawed hands held her sword-arm down and she felt long teeth bury themselves in her wrist. Arwen squealed and let go. She struggled to her knees but was felled to the ground again, the breath knocked sharply out of her, and she lay still for a second - winded. Then there was a weight upon her back and cold, rough hands wrapped themselves around her throat and squeezed tightly. She struggled, but in vain, and the waiting darkness flowed in front of her eyes and took her.