The hammer and the star

This short novel was posted in response of a challenge, which theme was « The doors of Moria ».

.oOo.

Tonight our story is told by a young lonely dwarf, whose great conqueror nose is often tinged with deep carmine. The divine bottle, auxiliary or substitute for many muses, often provides him company. Our dwarf peddles small luxury goods, on the green way, to rivermen or the inhabitants of the Blue Mountains. Somehow poseur and vain, this bearded mountebank often takes liberties with reality -the value, quality, origin and composition of his goods are quite approximate. To put it bluntly, his family ended up throwing out this failure-merchant, who leads a life of a dilettante poet.

So his finances force him to dine at a discount for now. Furthermore he appreciates the warm company and the kind attention of the great hall of the Drunken Goose. When a busty weaver asks why dwarves and elves are still at war, he exclaims, and at once dusts off a tale by peppering some bold approximations.

.oOo.

Around SA 1200, a powerfull Maïa1, who was called Annatar, the Lord of Gifts, arrives in Eregion. Meanwhile Celebrimbor, famous silversmith and Fëanor's last kin, welcomes him in his brotherhood, Galadriel leaves the land.

Eregion, Gwaith-i-Mírdain 2, SA 1584

The crucible wild blaze splatters the porphyry wall, projecting there monstrous shadows of two giants striking back. The elf and dwarf are picking on a tiny flicker, precipitating their steel hammer with the regularity of a clock and the power of a ram. The stubborn glow throbs and glazes with a cheerful tinkle under each powerful blow. Purple fumaroles embrace the artisans' wrists, distilling acrid blood and stormy fragrances. As a living, molten metal is a whimsical and challenging servant. But the two masters slaughter their enchanted maces with consummate skill and perfect accordance. Pinchers twirl, anvil sings in two voices a bewitching air. The alternate hammering shapes the noble material, sublimating the smith's delicate science by the transcending intention of the jeweler.

And suddenly a double ring hatches, like two flowers emerge from the same original bud, the refined Noldorin lines running on the subtle Naugrim alloy.

The two friends together deal the separating blow and raise their works to the light, exchanging a satisfied and conniving smile in the sweltering heat of the forges. Then with the same gesture they dive back to work, chiseling and crimping the twin rings, they exchange and round off slowly. Power words chanted in Khuzdul meet echoing the elven incantatory litanies until morning.

Finally dwarf and elf walk out of the forges, staggering with fatigue but thankfully enjoying the thrill of this fertile communion.

Celebrimbor, dazzled by this disturbing merging experience, begins to understand that the sharing lord Annatar offered him once, was not as altruistic as he had thought at the time. How misled he had been... A long time ago he had earnestly sought the alliance of Lady Galadriel, but she had rejected him from her thoughts, refusing to share their creative excitement. But now Celebrimbor had met Narvi...

.oOo.

Throne room of Khâzad-Dûm, SA 1628

From his throne, the great dwarf scans splendor spread at his feet and necks prostrate before him. His lofty forehead radiates a compelling determination. His brazen arm holds an irresistible quiet strength. His dresses trickle of gold and silver, these dwarven toys. Thousand jewels crown his august white hair with an unreal flickering.

Durin the third is enthroned in majesty in the ceremonial hall of Dwarrowdelf. His glance is order.

His fist shines with the lights of a golden ring, set with an emerald. Since he claimed this gift from Celebrimbor as a heirloom, the King under the Mountain does not experience weakness any more. When he withdraws in himself, visions form and his penetrating wisdom reveals the ways of power.

-" Fràar ! Come to me ! "

The commander of the mines comes forward and bows respectfully.

- "For many moons Mahal sends me a dream. Have galleries set down northward, from the ninth depth. We shall find a vein that the world would envy us. Even more than today, our kingdom will ensure its dominance among the seven clans and hegemony over its neighbors. "3

While Fràar, overwhelmed by the prescience of his king, musters his captains to reach the depths, the King under the Mountain continues his inspiration:

- " Narvi! Come here! "

The first ambassador does not appear in the large hall any more, without a shudder of apprehension. The king's understanding has become subtle and deep, but his vision has hardened and Narvi fears his decisions.

- " The fate of our people is imminent - wealth, power and fame torn from our mines with the sweat of our brows. I order that should be built impassable doors that keep the mountain from the greed of our enemies. No one may pass them without the blessing of the King under the Mountain. Go ! "

.oOo.

Western door of Khâzad-Dûm, SA 1629

After months of grueling work, the western gates are erected. Narvi is about to complete his work by solemnly dedicating them to the authority of the King under the Mountain.

- "May this act bear no ill omen! ", he sighs deeply, thinking that never before the entrance had been closed.

But suddenly his heart leaps for joy. Light footsteps climb the stairs of the stream behind him. His dwarf soul recognizes a friend even before Narvi can identify the cheerful and shrill voice that hail him:

-" Hey, Master Narvi! Why do you seal your stone house? "

The thankful dwarf turns to the newcomer:

- "Celebrimbor! Be twice welcome, in this moment of doubt! I have built dwarven doors... but may not seal them. My heart warns me. Yet the will of the King under the Mountain must be obeyed…"

The tall elf instinctively grasps his friend's reluctance. He thinks for a while and smiles at the dwarf, with a star in the background of his look:

- " Of course! But your king has left you free, about how to carry out his order..."

Then the two friends work hard, carving, engraving, inlaying tiny moonstone crystals. For a whole day and part of the night, the two soul mates support and inspire each other to dedicate the union of two people. When the moon rises, Celebrimbor and Narvi join their voices and twin rings to pronounce the sacramental vow. The inscription is illuminated briefly before vanishing, while the doors majestically open:

« Ennyn Durin Aran Moria Pedo mellon a minno. Im Narvi Hain echant Celebrimboro o Eregion teithant i thiw hin. 4»

Ravished, the two companions lengthily contemplate each other's work. It seems to them, their friendship will bloom as long as blaze on these doors, the hammer of Dùrin and the Star of Fëanor.

.oOo.

Throne room of Khâzad-Dûm, SA 1629, one week later:

- "Never did any descendant of Durin has so brazenly dared to disobey the King under the Mountain!"

Narvi, kneeling and mortified, beholds the remains of his beautiful black beard, scattered on the floor around him. He has not even had the opportunity to justify. The fury of the King under the mountain falls on him with a blind intransigence.

The ruler of Dwarrowdelf feels betrayed by his own blood. The door, which was to ensure the safety of his people, was tainted by a foreign hand! The password has been revealed! Dùrin the third fulminates:

- "You shall no longer leave the mountain! Since this door cannot be safe, I'll give it a perpetual keeper! I make you hereditary sentinel of the western door. May your sons, if you ever beget, expiate their father's fault!"

The king is about to dismiss Narvi. Then, suspiciously contemplating his ring for a while, he changes his mind and says:

- "And I strictly forbid foreigners to enter Khâzad-Dûm! The head of anyone who disobeys this order, will be severed, along with his accomplices, be they of Dùrin's blood!"

.oOo.

Western door of Khâzad-Dûm, SA 1697

The warg tears the head of the elf warrior who was fleeing before him. Eager for warm, clear blood, he devours the viscera, then stops when seeing a girl who reaches the top of the stairs. The terrorized slender elf is frantically hitting her little fists on the closed stone door when the warg interrupts her screams by crushing her chest in a sickening crack. The monster shivers with delight, swallowing the tasty flesh, subtly veined with terror...

As far as the eyes can see, holly bushes burn and dark hordes ride by. Elven refugees flock, harassed by orcs mounted on dire wolves. Fugitives fall exhausted, soon slain by an orc or shredded by a warg. A group of women and children, protected by some elves in arms, is slowly progressing on the paved road. Celebrimbor was able to gather the best surviving swordsmen after the sack of Ost-in-Edhil. Helped by Elrond and Glorfindel, he is leading the little band, to find refuge with his friend Narvi, to the western gate of Dwarrowdelf.

Finally the harassed troops join the portal. Sated, the coward animal that was feasting at the entrance moves away carefully.

Celebrimbor stands in front of the doors and appeals to friendship. In vain. Behind locked doors, a dwarf with a short black beard is crying his impotence, hampered by his comrades.

The Fëanorian hoarses. The doors remain sealed, under the horrified eyes of the elves. Hope is dying in their heart. Out of himself and disbeliving Celebrimbor cannot reject his friendship vows, nor call a curse on the treacherous line of Dùrin.

Then the sky darkens even more, as if all the storms of the Misty Mountains assembled for the kill. Evil creatures themselves, fearing what approaches, disperse whining.

Annatar, Lord of gifts, hurls raging to the door. It is no time any more for him to conceal his malice in a glorious coaxing presence or a subtle promising word. His ferocious greed and thirst for domination over all life, alter his unreal beauty and clear the battlefield. Driven by an unquenchable frustration, he chases the just who tore the Elven rings from his control.

More than by his implacable hatred for this vile renegade Maia, Celebrimbor feels overwhelmed by an irrepressible disgust, this supreme nausea from which frees only death. Recognizing the noxious rumor that announces Morgoth Bauglir's5 henchman, he sends the heroes back. Alone, he will face while flee the remnants of Eregion folk.

Struck by the glazed look of the Fëanorian, Elrond and Glorfindel obey and surrender him to his fate. Bringing together the survivors and leading them to the north, they pretend to aim for the Redhorn Pass and confuse the tracking.

In front of the closed door, desperate revolt confronts insatiable lust.

This revolt is fair, the right unquestionable, the resistance fierce. However perfidious hatred has long veiled its violence with ruse, creeping at the heart of his enemies to know, divide and conquer them. The dark design of domination will break the resistance with a relentless compulsion, for he knows everything of his opponent. Celebrimbor has but one secret to reveal, that Annatar is to extricate from him with palpitating shreds of his disjointed body.

The Lord of Gifts advances. He is to give death.

.oOo.

The Fëanorian is cornered and bloodless. The devious Maia watches his last blow to snatch sword, gauntlet and hand. Then the slow torture extirpate out of his prey, the last secret of Celebrimbor. Annatar will know where are Vilya, Nenya and Narya. And his reign will be complete - inevitable and final.

Exhausted but undaunted, Celebrimbor gathers all his energy for a final assault. Annatar already has him in his power, and smiles at his sacrificial victim with a winning and sneer rictus.

But then comes out of the wall a short shape in shining chainmail. The Maia has only time to see a dwarven mask grinning a curse. Celebrimbor's galvorn6 sword and Narvi's war hammer fall down together in a simultaneous flash, on Annatar who switches on with a cry of terror.

.oOo.

The gates of Moria have closed. An explosion has dug a deep crater in front of the threshold7. The surprised Maia had to draw on the very essence of his flesh to survive this onslaught, led by hatred tenfolded with love. As a thick smoke is clearing, Lord Annatar painfully rises among the corpses. His jagged face will never hoist again, the deceitful smile of his insolent beauty.

Supreme victory has just escaped him. His curse falls on the sealed doors, this time in vain. But the line of Dùrin will not be forgotten.

The remains of Celebrimbor and Narvi are impaled on tall irons spears, carried as banners by a trolls guard.

United in death, the dwarf and the elf keep their secret, long after will be erased on the doors, the hammer of Dùrin and the Star of Fëanor.

.oOo.

The generous weaver has come to sit down beside the voluble dwarf. Success confers a certain charm... As the hall loudly congratulates the Naugrim for his history, she leans on his shoulder and languidly whispers in his ear:

- " I have guessed what was written on the door : Speak, Lover, and come in !"

The understanding of the young woman surprises the dwarf, who stares at her with interest for the first time of the evening. So at least someone could follow him... But she added with a glance:

- "I know that, since it is also written on my door!"

.oOo.

Notes

1 Maïa, pl Maïar : prime being akin to the Valar, whom they are sometimes the followers. Olorin, Iarwain Ben Adar (Tom Bombadil), Melian and Sauron are Maïar.

2 Smith's brotherhood.

3 As a matter of fact, shortly after this grand revelation, Fràar discovered huge veins of mithril. This discover insured wealth and fame for the kingdom of Khazad-Dûm. But it also led to its fall, in the third age, when the veins, dug ever deeper and deeper, liberated an invincible foe, the Balrog.

4 The doors of Dùrin, king of Moria. Speak Friend and come in. I Narvi have made them. Celebrimbor of Eregion has engraved these signs.

5 The Black Ennemy of the world, the binding.

6 « (…) metal as hard as dwarven steel is malleable, but he could make it thin and flexible as silk while impenetrable to arrows and swords. Eöl called it galvorn, since it was jet-black and shining, and he wore it whenever he travelled. » The Silmarillion, J.R.R Tolkien.

7 The attentive reader noticed that an attempt of explanation has skipped here, aboutcthe origin of the lake in front of the door…