Chapter XXVII: Battles of the Heart
In the darkness of the eternal night that reigned over Baradu, the Generals of the Remnant gathered. Mornië, Garulf, Grishnákh, and Vrayon sat atop the tower in a half circle, a palantír on a pedestal projecting Turdú's image before them. The Drow General sat on a comfortable chair inside his quarters, Dilotè standing behind him.
"The time of our triumph draws nigh," Mornië spoke in an excited, hushed tone. "The horsemen have allied themselves with the elves, hoping to overthrow the Belgorians."
"This is good?" Garulf growled.
"For zossse of usss vith brainsss," Vrayon hissed, "Ve sssee zat zisss vill make zem zat much easssier to kill."
"Precisely," Mornië responded, ignoring Garulf's anger. "I, I mean, 'Isildur'..." the generals laughed, "...have told Eldarion to march on the Venyarohirrim in full force by going up through the Dead Marshes. There, they will meet them in battle. When the Belgorians empty their country, and the horsemen empty theirs, we shall strike Isen Meares and take gasp of the whole country. From there, we shall move to Belgor, intercept the remainder of the armies, and crush them as well, thus, making Middle Earth ours."
"But how will we assure the Venyarohirrim will be in the Marshes?" Turdú questioned.
"I believe that Gandalf and the Noldor communicate through a palantír," Mornië answered. "The horsewoman is eager and headstrong; she will easily fall. I will pose as one of the elves and command her to attack Minas Tirith by way of the Dead Marshes. She will not think twice."
"And of the ring?" Dilotè said, her image walking around Turdú to the front of the chair.
"I know not," the Remnant Commander replied, "I have the rings of men, and four of the dwarf rings. Thou dost not yet have the night crystal, however, correct?"
"No, my Lord," Turdú said, "But we have discovered its location."
"Oh, really now?" Mornië commented, sounding slightly amused and quite happy.
"It lies in the southern area of Mirkwood, where Dol Guldur once stood," the General continued. "We should have it within the week."
"Excellent," Mornië replied with a grin. He paused, his grin fading, and then returning. "Vrayon, thou hast visitors."
Vrayon, who had been gazing out over the dark forest, looked up suddenly, cocking his head. "Vat?"
There was a flash of red and black a moment later in the center of the group, and three crimson-cloaked vampires appeared in the middle of the cloud. The tallest soldier stepped forward, revealing himself to be Smynoc, Vrayon's captain. The other two, elite vampire soldiers, stepped into line behind the captain, standing at attention.
The pale humanoid saluted all the Generals, bowed to Mornië, and then hurried to Vrayon's side, whispering in the high, shrieking, language of the vampires.
Vrayon held up a hand, interrupting his captain. "Common Ssspeech, pleassse. Ve are on Remnant busssinesss, Captain."
"I am sssorry, sssir," Smynoc mumbled, nodding nearly imperceptibly.
"Thank thee, Vrayon," Mornië said with a smile. "The rest of thee should do well to follow his example."
On the palantír's projection, Dilotè looked up at Turdú, who rolled his eyes. The Drow maiden giggled slightly, but none of the others seemed to notice.
Smynoc began again, "Sssir, ve have good news. Khazad isss found."
Khazad, the last remaining dwelling of the dwarves, was rumored to be the home of the last remaining and most powerful dwarf ring.
"Exsssellent!" Vrayon cried, leaping to his feet. "How long ago, Captain?"
"Two hoursss," Smynoc answered. "Ve did not vant to begin ze attack vithout you, sssir."
Vrayon began to open his mouth as if to speak, but his eyes darkened suddenly. Closing his mouth with a snap of fangs, Vrayon nodded.
Mornië dismissed the odd behavior and smiled, "Thou trains thy soldiers well, Vrayon. Go, and may the night be at they side."
"Thank you, sssir," the vampire said with a crisp salute. With a nod, Vrayon turned to Turdú's image. "Asss alvayss, it hasss been a pleasssure ssspeaking vith you." He glanced over his shoulder at Grishnákh and nodded again, then turned to Garulf and shrugged nonchalantly. "I vould sssay ze sssame, but..." the vampire trailed off, smiling wickedly.
Garulf growled and began to rise, but the two elite vampires drew their long daggers and stepped in front of Vrayon. With another crack and red flash, the four vampires vanished.
"You will allow him to insult me so, my lord?" Garulf snarled at Mornië.
The Drow shrugged. "He was only teasing, I am sure."
The lychen sat back with a huff, red eyes flashing.
Mornië turned now to Grishnákh. "Is there news from the Misty Mountains? Have thy troops made any significant progress?"
"No, my lord," the orc rumbled. "The most recent scout claims to have seen a pile of bodies on the slopes last night. He says their wounds were cauterized."
Mornië narrowed his eyes and stroked his black goatee. "This is not good. Those damned Noldor, no doubt. I would not expect any further contact from thy men in Moria."
"I do not, sir. They sacrificed their lives for the Remnant, as was their duty," Grishnákh said coldly. "I do not mourn for them."
Mornië stood suddenly, "This concludes our meeting. Good work, all of thee. I feel victory on the horizon. Turdú, Dilotè; get my Night Crystal as soon as possible. We meet in the Dead Marshes in three days time." The Remnant Commander waved his hand. "Dismissed. May the night be at thy side."
As the sun set over Lorien, Gandalf rose slowly from the chair on which he had sat chatting with Mordae and Celebdraug but a night before. The wizard's complexion was white as his robes with worry, and there were glistening lines down his weathered face where stray tears had escaped his dark eyes.
He could barely even fathom what had occurred. A balrog...he would have never guessed that he would encounter one of the fell creatures again. Much less his protégés...
Gandalf sat down again as his mind reeled. To imagine what would become of Middle Earth if the Udunaedos were slain was beyond what he even dared dream. True, they were but two warriors, but they fought like five hundred, and were an incredible morale booster. They had slain millions of evil beings, of that Gandalf was sure. To die alone in the darkness of Moria, their bodies never to be recovered was exceedingly unfitting.
If they were dead, the wizard knew, those left would fall to the Remnant within the month. But that was not all that troubled Gandalf. Mordae and Celebdraug had long ceased to be his students, becoming more like his son and daughter. The wizard ached with the pain a father felt when his children hurt. He must know if they still lived, for some closure to this nightmare.
For this reason, Gandalf forced himself to stand and walk up the stairway to the tower where the palantír sat, its cold, void face seeming to mock the empty feeling inside him. Casting his hesitation aside, the wizard reached a trembling hand to the orb and let his mind search, seeking his children.
The harsh landscape of the Misty Mountains whirled past him, reminding him of his own duel with a demon, bringing back the terror and the horrible realization that even he, with his powers, had fallen to the beast. The darkness of Moria engulfed his mind, and in his heart, Gandalf relived each moment of dread from his last experience in the mine.
He reached the cavern where the Udunaedos had been, the charred black rocks laughing at his pain in their coldness, reminding the wizard of gravestones over the tombs of forgotten heroes.
Then, suddenly, there was a light. Four lights, to be exact. Glowing orbs of red and yellow that flickered as the sound of muted laughter flowed in a glorious melody into Gandalf's ears.
Children! Gandalf cried, his view rushing to the elves' side. They lay propped up against a rock, slouched nearly to the point of lying down.
Gandy! they shrieked in unison.
Tears of joy slid down Gandalf's cheeks as he mentally embraced the two. You two had me very worried, he said. Never do that again.
Mordae groaned, I don't plan to.
Celebdraug smiled weakly. To hear you complain, you would think killing balrogs was a hard thing. I would do it as a warm up every day, if I could find enough of them.
A huge grin broke over Gandalf's face, Are you two all right?
Mordae sat up on his elbows with great difficulty, and then beamed at the wizard's image. This is about as far as I'm going, for now.
Gandalf felt a pang in his chest at the elves' predicament, but he knew they had suffered through terrible injuries many times before and were no less of fighters because of it.
Yeah, Celebdraug agreed with Gandalf's internal thinking, I've had my neck broken, for crying out loud. And we've both been hit over the head countless times with random heavy objects. And look at us.
Which is why I'm worried, Gandalf responded with a smile.
Hey! Mordae cried, dropping lightly back against the rock.
Gandalf shook his head slightly. I will leave you now, children. I must tell the others of your good fortune. They may want to speak with you, of course.
No visitors, Celebdraug insisted.
But the Venyarohirrim girl is dying to speak to you. She practically worships you.
Mordae rolled his eyes. Fans. Can't get enough of me.
Celebdraug jabbed his shoulder lightly. They really like me, you know.
Gandalf's smile grew broader, and with a flash, his image disappeared.
Dilotè and Turdú stood at the General's doorway as she prepared to leave.
"I enjoyed this night very much, Turdú. I hope we can do this again sometime soon," Dilotè said with a small smile.
Turdú smiled nervously back, "I would love to. Rest well, we leave for Mirkwood tomorrow."
Dilotè nodded, "Nidanostre, Turdú."
"Nidanostre."
As the maiden turned to leave, the flickering image of Maneva Mornië appeared in the center of Turdú's living room, his expression dark as his skin.
Turdú raised his eyebrows and exhaled slowly, and Dilotè giggled as she turned away.
The General turned and strode to the image, saluting his commander.
"General Turdú," Mornië growled. "Was that elvish I heard uttered?"
"Yes, sir," Turdú answered almost defiantly. "We were on personal business, sir. I assumed that the laws did not apply."
Mornië raised one eyebrow in question. "Personal business?"
"Yes, sir."
The Commander clenched his fist. "I forbid thee to become involved with that...infidel."
"Infidel?" Turdú growled.
"She is not a Drow. She is Halda'ohtar. Lesser."
"She is far better than most Drow I know," Turdú hissed.
"She is not!" Mornië thundered, calling on his mage powers. "Thou are not to associate any further than required with that woman! I keep her alive only until the rest of her infidel people join our cause. Then, I will end her pathetic existence! And you...shall...not...stand in my way!!"
Turdú dropped to one knee, his face bowed. "Yes, sir," the Drow whispered.
Mornië's image flickered, and then with a crack, vanished.
Turdú rose slowly, shakily, to his feet and turned toward the direction Dilotè had left.
He jumped in surprise and horror at the figure that leaned against the frame, sword drawn.
"Dilotè!" he said quickly, stumbling over his words, "I can explain..."
The girl shook her head sadly, slashed her sword through the Remnant flag that hung over Turdú's doorway, then turned and sprinted off into the night toward her quarters, where she collapsed on her cot, tears streaming down her face.
Turdú sank to his knees, held his face in his hands, and wondered what sort of mess he had gotten himself into this time.
