This chapter is especially for aural_fixation. I should have called it "all paths converging nicely." :D

*The Palantíri were rumoured to have been made by Fëanor himself (Maglor's father in case you weren't aware).

Gonhîr : Fire master

Kazad: ancient word for Dwarf, respectful. Noldorin word.

Ascatar-axo: the archaic Quenya name for this Palantir.

Barad-Arth: the name of the hill fort they were making towards when they got turned in the fog.

Thank you to my wonderful beta, Anarithilien. Hope the wedding goes perfectly my dear. Xx

Chapter 22: In the shadow of Barad-Arth

When Elrohir had heard Aragorn's news about Legolas, finally he understood the strange anxiety that had been chewing away at him from the moment he had set foot upon the Downs. Now he felt like screaming in impotent rage at his foolishness, for he had thought Legolas was in Ithilien, nursing some grudge that had developed between them because he, Elrohir, had not confided in Legolas what Aragorn had asked of him. Now he cursed himself for not asking Legolas to come with him. He should have, he knew that now.

But as he had stood with Maglor looking down at the Mergyll-Dagnir with their strangely damasked blades, he had felt something reach into his soul; it was like a hand had dipped into his crimson power in haste and fear, knowing that Elrohir had enough to spare, knowing that he would not stint. He knew with absolute certainty that it was Legolas, and that he had been in desperate straits to reach for Elrohir so.

Power had exploded from him then and he had clutched a hand to his breast and looked up, expecting to see something, a fireball, a meteorite, something, exploding from his own body and shooting ahead. For a moment he had thought he saw Legolas, running away into darkness, knives in his hands. Elrohir knew where Legolas was, why he was running through darkness. It could only be in the deep places of the Iaun-Gynd, in the barrows where the ancient tribes of Cardolan had laid their dead and he was escaping the Barrow Wights that had taken him.

'Legolas!' he had cried but Legolas did not stop and Elrohir did not want him too. 'Run!' he had whispered. 'I will find you!' Now he urged Barakhir on, feeling his horse's long legs stretch and his muscles ripple in a determined gallop that ate up the moor, leaping over the tussocks and little streams that suddenly appeared and just as quickly vanished into the chalk downs.

Arod was close behind and he could hear Gimli shouting, 'Arod! Noro lim!' with the same urgency in his voice that Elrohir felt in his heart. Roheryn pounded along behind. Elrohir did not slow or pause or look round. He was entirely focused on the high mounds of the tumuli that rose out of the moor, and on the mysterious stones that spiralled inwards towards the Iaun-Gynd.

He knew where he was going for he was no stranger to these lands, he had ridden them when they were inhabited by the tribes of Men, when they were the centre of ritual whose origins lay in more ancient times; he had ridden here when it was churned into a battlefield by Angmar's Orc army, and again when there was nothing but curlews and quail scuttling through the heather and grass and he had plunged carelessly into the belly of the dark, into the barrows of the ancients, plundered their tombs for Aícanaro in spite of Glorfindel's protest. He had ignored Glorfindel then and he ignored Maglor now as he called to Elrohir to wait, to consider what they did.

The sun had not yet sunk below the horizon, yet it was twilit dark for a grey mist was gathering over the high moor like the sea had come inland, and it gave a strange and eerily mercurial light, so the moor looked sepia as if all colour had leached away. He was about a mile and a half from the Iaun-Gynd and over the top of the moor, far away, lightning flashed but there was no rumble of thunder.

Arod pulled alongside him, and he could hear the horses breathing hard now. Barakhir stumbled slightly and he thought he had pushed the horse too hard. Roheryn's heavier hoofs were close behind and then further back the quick beat of Pippin's pony.

'Hold you fool!' shouted Maglor and he pulled Arod to cut across Barakhir so that Elrohir had no choice but to pull up, cursing and swearing as he did. Gimli was swearing too and clinging to Maglor as the horses turned nervously about each other, as bad tempered as their riders. Barakhir nipped at Arod uncharacteristically, both horses' nostrils were flared, and their flanks heaved.

Maglor was just as furious with Elrohir. 'Are you some green recruit that gallops headlong into battle without knowing what you ride into?' he demanded. 'You think to save your friends like this?' His tone was biting, a commander to an irresponsible foot soldier. 'It is at least a mile to the Iaun-Gynd and at this pace, you will have exhausted the horses before we even get there!'

Elrohir glared at him. That he was right only made it worse.

'The Úmaiar are causing this fog. They have brought it down deliberately to confuse us!' Maglor said as angry as Elrohir, and the air crackled with his fury. 'You do not know what you will find there! You cannot hear their Song in the air! It will quietly unpick all that you are. By the time you are aware of it, it is too late!' His eyes flashed with the same anger that was in Elrohir's for Finwë's blood surged in both their veins.

Elrohir looked away from the weight of those deep eyes, mercurial in the eerie light and almost did not hear the murmur that followed. 'It would kill your father if I lost you.'

The words shocked Elrohir and sobered him too. He had seen the grief that was slowly destroying his father with Arwen's loss.

Just then, Aragorn drew up, and Pippin a little bit later, breathing hard and Flash's sides heaving. Aragorn had heard the first part of Maglor's reprimand and pointed out reasonably, 'We don't even know if the Hobbits are up here. Pippin lost them in the moat around Barad-Arth, and unless they rode straight up the ramparts on the wrong side, they could not be in the Iaun-Gynd.'

'But Legolas is!' Elrohir snapped. Aragorn opened his mouth to say something else, but he shut it again and looked away.

'We will find your friend,' Maglor said softly, 'But we must also find the Periannath and this Man who is with them and keep them safe.'

'Baranor,' said Pippin defiantly. 'His name's Baranor. He and Elrohir have been travelling together before they met us.'

Maglor bowed slightly. 'Baranor.'

Elrohir felt a tight squeeze of shame; he had behaved abominably towards Baranor.

'Rûk-Shtôl is hungry,' said Gimli loudly. He pulled his great axe loose from its holster and swung the great war axe experimentally. 'A few Barrow Wights will sharpen the blade nicely.'

Maglor turned back to Gimli and gave a grim smile. 'Strong though Rûk-Shtôl might be, I fear he is no weapon to fight the Umaiar. Only the Mergyll-Dagnir can undo the sorcery that keeps them bound to the earth. But the Umair will not face the Mergyll-Dagnir. No, they will awaken the Orcs that perished here a thousand years ago.'

Elrohir recalled his own fears about what they might face in the Iaun-Gynd. His hand fell unconsciously upon the saddlebag where the Palantir nestled. He felt the roundness of it against his thigh and a static charge where it touched him, as if it reached out to him, reminding him it was here, and what it was.

'I do not see…' Aragorn began.

But Gimli interrupted impatiently, 'Yes, yes, it is said that the Barrow Wights can animate the bones of the dead. But it is a thousand years ago and more since that battle was lost! Their bones will have disintegrated by now. Get to the point.'

'Do you not think that they have preserved those very bones, so they have an army to fight for them?' Maglor pinned them with the sharpness of his gaze and Aragorn and Gimli were silent.

Pippin opened his mouth and the closed it again. Then he opened it again and said quietly, 'We've still got to find Legolas,' he said, looking at Elrohir. 'We can't just leave him here.'

'No one is leaving anyone,' said Maglor, drawing a long white sword from the plain sheath at his side. He turned his grey eyes towards Elrohir, and they were molten in the strange half-light and silver when the lightning flashed silently over the moor. 'Elrohir and I will find Legolas.'

Relief washed over Elrohir then. They were going to find Legolas. He turned his eyes upwards towards the Iaun-Gynd, the high Barrows. He knew Legolas was there.

Maglor leaned back towards Gimli without turning his head, and said with a slight smile on his lips, 'Gonhîr, I know you wish to sharpen your axe upon the Úmaiar, but it is needed to protect the Periannath right now. Will you trust Elrohir and I to find your friend and go instead with Aragorn? Peregrine, you too? Find them and take them back to the Barad-Arth. It is a protected place. I will find you and we will return the Mergyll-Dagnir to their rightful place.'

Gimli seemed to shake himself. 'You put me in the position of Khalâbinzâr,' he said obliquely. And then with a grunt, the Dwarf slid down from Arod and patted the horse affectionately. 'Be safe, you stupid beast, and find Legolas,' he said very quietly. Then he turned to look up at Aragorn, who still seemed dazed at Elrohir's news. 'Aragorn, give me a hand up, will you?' He reached up and Aragorn hauled him up onto Roheryn's broad back.

While Gimli was speaking, Elrohir had slid his hand, unthinking, under the saddlebag flap and felt the Palantir's smooth, cool surface. His fingers sank into it a little and he half closed his eyes. Under his fingers, the Palantir felt warmer as if it awoke to Elrohir's touch; perhaps if I just looked into it, he found himself thinking, I might see Legolas, I might find where he is. I might…

'Elrondion!' Maglor's voice snapped him awake.

Elrohir blinked awake and saw that Maglor was staring at him, eyes narrowed. 'What do you have there? There is great Power under your hand. What is it?' he demanded.

Aragorn turned to look at Elrohir, his face suddenly wondering and hopeful. "Did you find it?' he asked excitedly.

Elrohir licked his lips nervously. After all, if anyone had a claim to the Palantír, surely it was Maglor? 'It was Baranor who found it,' he confessed, and he felt hot with shame at how he had treated Baranor. 'I just helped. He was the one to guess where it was and dig through to the chamber under the Tower of Amon Sûl.'

'You have Ascatar-axo?' Maglor asked astonished. His silver-grey eyes turned molten in the eerie light and Elrohir remembered who this was, and what he had done in madness. He pressed his hand over the saddlebag, over the Palantir, protectively.

'Do you know what it does? How to use it?' Maglor asked Aragorn intently as he hitched the saddlebag over Roheryn's withers. When Aragorn nodded, for of course he had used the Orthanc stone to confront Sauron, Maglor lifted an eyebrow in a gesture that was so like Elrond, that Elrohir started. 'This,' Maglor indicated the roundness that bulged in the saddlebag over Barakhir's withers. 'This is Ascataraxo, the Devourer'.'

Then Gimli demanded grumpily, 'Whatever it is you are talking about have the courtesy to share it with your comrades who might be about to risk life and limb in battle with you.'

Aragorn turned to the Dwarf with a slight smile on his lips. 'Elrohir has found the Palantir of Amon Sûl. It was believed to have been lost in the Bay of Forochel over a thousand years ago. But in the Angle, they told a different story. They tell how it was left in Amon Sul when Angmar's army overran Cardolan, that it is… was,' he corrected with a wider smile, 'under the ruins of the Tower still. It seems that the alternative was the true one.' He reached over from Roheryn and clasped Elrohir's arm gratefully. 'So now the prophesy might be fulfilled.'

'Prophesy?' asked Gimli, his keen eyes narrowed and intent.

Aragorn pushed his hair back from his face and nodded. 'Malbeth the Seer made three prophesies. The first was about Arvedui, the last King of Arnor. The second was about the Stone of Erech and the Oathbreakers, the Dead who followed us out of the Dwimorberg.'

'It was about you, Aragorn,' said Pippin loyally.

'Yes, yes,' said Gimli impatiently. 'And the Dead were very helpful as we know. But what has this to do with now? And when are you riding up there,' he pointed to the hills, 'and finding Legolas. Because if you aren't going, then I am.'

'Peace, Gonhîr. We are going. But let us understand what we are fighting first,' Maglor said softly, 'and with what.'

Aragorn glanced at Gimli and then continued, 'There was a third prophesy, much like the second. The first part of the prophesy makes no sense but the second verse of it is this:

Ancient ghosts enslaved by the Dark.

The ruined Tower trembles,

For what is beneath the earth, devours bones.

That which was lost must be found

For the hour will have come for the Faithful.'

Aragorn paused and then said, 'It is passed down in secret in the Angle. And it is said that that which was lost was the Stone of Amon Sul, and the hour for the Faithful is the hour that will restore the Kingdom of Arnor so Gondor and Arnor are free once again. I asked Elrohir to seek the Lost Stone so that I can restore the Kingdom.'

'But that is not all,' said Maglor. 'Ascataraxo is the name of this Palantir. It is not just a seeing stone, Gimli. It is a weapon.' Though he spoke to Gimli, Maglor's penetrating gaze was fixed upon Aragorn unnervingly, but Aragorn was well used to the weight of an elven gaze and he did not quail. 'And that is not all.' Slowly, Maglor drew a long knife from a sheath at his side. The sheath was a strange black metal set with fiery stones and that Elrohir had not noticed before. Light glanced off the blade as he drew it and it seemed like a dragon undulated along the damasked metal, the sinuous silver body gleaming with crimson. Runes that slid along the dragon's body, black and flowing through the strange light.

'Who shall sound the horn in the hills, ringing?' Elrohir read aloud. He looked up to see Maglor watching him intently. 'This is the blade that was Merry's,' Elrohir realised and Maglor inclined his head in acknowledgement.

'Peregrine?' Maglor gestured invitingly and Pippin drew his own knife then.

It gleamed with the same strange light as Maglor's, and a dragon rippled over the steel as if it were silk. Turning the blade slightly, Pippin read, 'Shall he free the faithful and restore the lost Kingdom?'

Elrohir felt a thrill of energy begin in his fingertips, a charge building as Pippin looked up at each of them. 'Tom Bombadil told us something. Sam remembered in when we were looking for Merry. He said:

'Who shall sound the horn in the hills, ringing?

Who shall call them back to the grey twilight, those Kings of Old?

Shall he free the faithful and restore the lost Kingdom?

Not once shall he pass the Door to the Dead,

Alone shall he pass but not alone he will return.'

As if the words themselves had conjured it, lightning cracked across the darkening sky, lighting up the hillside and silhouetting the tall standing stones upon the barrows above.

Gimli cried out and pointed to one of the barrows, two miles away perhaps. A blaze of red fire shot up into the sky.

Fire on the Tyrn Gorthad, in the Iaun-Gynd itself. Bonfires lit at the mouths of barrows, summoning the Úmaiar out of their dark tombs to wander the moor. Black Riders whose cloaks of shadow and darkness spread behind them like ink in water. A storm flashed over the ancient tumuli that rose up out of the land.

A sound came on the wind, from far away and near the Barrows. Elrohir tilted his head towards it and saw Maglor do the same. He must have heard it too.

A horn. A solitary, desperate call to arms in this haunted moor.

But Maglor stared, his mouth opened as if he had heard his own father's voice and Elrohir thought perhaps he had heard it once before, long ago, perhaps even here on these desolate moors. 'It cannot be….' he said.

'Who shall sound the horn in the hills, ringing?' Aragorn murmured in wonder.

'Baranor,' Elrohir said at the same time. 'It must be him. He must be under attack. It came from the Iaun-Gynd.'

'What?' demanded Gimli. "Did you hear something?'

'That was the horn of the Princes of Cardolan,' said Maglor tightly. 'I never thought to hear it again in the Waking world.'

'Why are we all just standing round here then?' cried Pippin. 'If they are under attack, we must go and help them! Isn't that what we 've just been talking about?'

Maglor was nodding in agreement and Arod snorted and turned tightly. '

'We ride,' said Maglor tightly. 'Elrohir, with me. Aragorn, take Gimli and Pippin as we agreed. Find them, take them to the Barad-Arth. They will be safer there.'

The turf flew from under the hoofs of their horses and they charged up the hillside towards the Iaun-Gynd and to Frodo's side.

0o0o0o

So sorry about the very long wait. Work and just, I couldn't quite work out what's next but the next chapter is written and will be out quickly and then I am hoping to just get this done by the New Year. :)