Chapter 3
Up and up the passage led. They had reached the original fork and turned the direction Omir had originally advised. They walked with comparatively light hearts-they had seen neither orc nor beast.
Still, Omiel was far from happy. She had gone the wrong way while Omir and Dakir were there to see, she had gotten them and herself into a whole mess of trouble, and finally she had been obliged to give in to Omir and do as he said, something she never enjoyed. What was more, Dakir kept glancing at her in an odd way, and she had a good idea of what he was thinking about.
Finally, Omir broached the subject. Omiel was rather surprised that he hadn't mentioned it sooner. "What is that thing you've got around your neck?" he said at last.
"That's none of your business," said Omiel stubbornly.
"It's none of my business to ask about something which first almost gets us killed, and then saves us from a whole den of orcs?"
"That's right."
"Well, it may not be my business, but by Ulmo1 I'm going to find out anyway. Give it here."
"I will not!" said Omiel, suddenly frightened, though she did not know why. She hurriedly caught the Silmaril on it's chain and held it firmly in her grasp.
"Then tell me what it is." He took a threatening step forward.
"I'll tell you later," said Omiel, taking the only chance of escape. "But I have to take it to the elves."
Omir was even more surprised now. "None of us fairies can reach the elves," he said, stopping in his advance, "they're shut out."
"So are orcs," said Omiel.
Omir could find no answer.
"No, they're not," said Dakir, who hadn't completely followed the conversation, "we happen to be in a whole mountain of them."
Omiel ignored him. Omir, however, looked puzzled. "How on Middle Earth," he said, more to himself than anyone else, "did a whole mountain full of goblins get into fairyland?"
"They didn't," said Omiel. "That is to say, they did-it didn't. The mountain full, I mean. This place isn't in fairyland. This is in the real world, and somehow the orcs found a way to get from here to our world."
"Well, it's good we have you here to tell us these things!" said Omir. "And just how do you know all that, professor?"
"A smart guess," snapped Omiel.
"Like your other guess that that passage was the right way to go."
"It would have been the right way to go if it hadn't had that thing in it."
"And that would have been a smart guess if it hadn't just been a dumb guess."
Omiel prepared to say something nasty back, but she never got the chance, for the simple reason that a hand was clamped over her mouth and her hands were tied behind her back. She saw that the same thing was happening to Omir and Dakir.
At last the hand let go. "Now hold your tongues," said a gruff voice, but not an orc voice. "I haven't time to listen to the two of you squall. March like gentlemen or you'll be sorry. Go on!"
"I'm not a gentleman," muttered Omiel as something hard pushed her from behind. The only answer she got was a harder push.
Up and up they went. Their captors walked behind without showing themselves, constantly prodding their backs or saying things like "Hurry up!" "Show a leg there!" "I haven't got all day!" and such like. If it had been at all possible, Omiel would have walked a great deal slower each time they said it, but, as it was, it was all she could do to keep them from forcing her to a run.
Someone had lit a candle or lantern of some sort, but it was behind them and gave but little light, so for the most part they could not see where they were going. Omiel kept tripping on the uneven floor, at times barely saving herself from falling. The boys were hardly better off. Every so often they passed a lamp set in the wall, but these burnt low, and were placed far apart.
At last they reached a place where two bright lamps burned on either side of the passage and two figures stood. Omiel gasped to see that they were dwarves, small but fully armed, both with a generous supply of knives, daggers and such like, one with a bow and the other with an axe.
They gaped at the fairies, and their captors, open-mouthed. Finally the taller one found his voice.
"What on Middle Earth is going on here, Dirk?"
A dwarf stepped out from behind Omiel into the light. He opened his mouth to say something, but the dwarf who had just spoken interrupted him.
"What were you doing down there? You've been told time and time again not to mess with the orcs until they mess with us! The King will be very angry when he hears of it."
"The King won't be angry when he sees what I found down there," said Dirk, pulling Omiel forward. "Fairies! Fraternizing with orcs! We should have killed the fairies when we had the chance. They were down there. Helping the orcs make their battle plans I wager, promising to help 'em!"
"We were doing no such thing!" cried Omiel.
"Oh weren't you? Tell that to the King," sneered Dirk.
"That's exactly what we intend to do!" said Omir hotly. "If you're so eager for him to meet us, take us to him!"
"You can go ahead and do that, Dirk," said the first dwarf. "And no more going down there without orders, fairies or no fairies."
He stepped aside to let them past, and Dirk led them along the passage beyond. It opened out into a huge hall lit with many lamps. Hundreds of dwarves moved about in it, and great columns of stone rose to support the stone ceiling.
"I say," said Dakir, which was unnecessary, as he was obviously talking even without telling them so, "this place is amazing!"
"Oh," said Dirk modestly, though visibly pleased, "it's really nothing. It fell into ruins long ago, and we haven't been here long enough to make it really beautiful. Now you ought to see the Mines of Moria or the Lonely Mountain-those are worth talking about. This place is tiny and contemptible in comparison."
"I think it is contemptible even out of comparison," said Omiel, who was feeling cross, "and if this is tiny, those other places you mentioned must be awful. I hate huge empty spaces."
"I suppose you think the orc dens are better," sneered Dirk. He seemed to like to sneer. "Crowded with orcs, they're not empty. But there not half as beautiful as the cities of the dwarves."
"I don't think the 'cities of the dwarves' are very beautiful."
"I suppose the orc dens are better? Nothing to look at but orcs and no light anywhere but in the deepest pits. Not much beauty there."
"I think orcs are cute," said Omiel stubbornly.
"Orcs are not cute," growled Dirk, glaring at her from beneath his bushy eyebrows.
"You're not cute," said Omiel rudely. (Afterwards she often regretted this speech.)
"Thankfully not, Miss Impertinence," said Dirk breaking into a hearty laugh. "I'm quite glad you think so."
"I take that back," said Omiel, "you're cute when you laugh."
"I am not!" growled Dirk, scowling again.
They reached a door on the other side of the hall where two more heavily armoured dwarves stood. Dirk spoke briefly to them and they let them enter.
They were led into a great room which even Omiel would have had to admit was beautiful had anyone asked her. Unfortunately, nobody did, and she did not volunteer her opinion. At the head of the room was a great throne on which was seated a lordly looking dwarf with a crown on his head.
"What is it?" The King asked after the perfunctory bows.
"Your Majesty," said Dirk, "these fairies were found in the dens of the orcs." After that, he seemed to feel he had said enough and simply stood back and watched.
The King looked at the fairies with surprise on his countenance. "Three fairies," he said, as if to himself, "a fat one, a skinny one, and a girl."
"I'm not fat!" said Omir. There could be no denying that Dakir was skinny.
"And I see no reason I should be placed last, if I am a girl!" said Omiel.
"Oh, get over yourself," murmured Omir.
The King gave them a stern look which sufficed to silence them. Then he spoke to Omir. "I wish to know not what your physical characteristics may be, but what you are doing here, or more specifically, in the orc dens."
"Ask her," said Omir, and finally, deciding it would be the wisest course of action, tacked on a "your Majesty."
The King looked at Omiel.
"I'm trying to get to the elves," she said shortly, not wanting to give too much away.
"And you took a shortcut through the orc dens?"
"More or less-I guess you could call it that." The King said nothing. Obviously he wanted her to go on. "Well," said Omiel, growing uneasy, "it was like this. We were trying to get to the elves when we were ambushed by orcs, and the mountain was the only way of escape."
"The mountain full of orcs?" asked The King.
"Well," said Omiel, awkwardly, "we didn't exactly know it was full of orcs when we went in."
"But you kept going?"
"There were orcs behind us, too. We had just as much of a chance going forward."
"Just as much? How many orcs were behind you?"
"Fourteen, I think."
"There were hundreds ahead. I don't think you had 'just as much of a chance'."
"We had no idea how many there were."
"But surely you saw more than fourteen."
Omiel didn't answer. The King turned to Dakir.
"About how many orcs did you see?" he asked.
"I didn't have time to count," said Dakir frankly. "They were running too fast."
"But there were many?"
"Oh, thousands!"
Bother, thought Omiel, why had he had to talk to Dakir?
"And how, with all these thousands running at you, did you manage to escape?"
"I didn't say they were running at us!" said Dakir, shocked. "They were running away."
The King was dumbfounded for a moment or two. Then he said, "And just why were they running away from you?"
"Don't you dare," Omiel said softly, with menace in her voice.
Dakir looked at The King and said nothing.
"Tell me!"
"I'm sorry," said Dakir, "but I can't."
"Why not?" The King was obviously not used to being defied so plainspokenly.
"I can't disobey the Princess," he answered bluntly.
Honestly, thought Omiel, she was really going to have to get rid of Dakir if she meant to get to the elves.
His statement electrified the dwarves. They were shocked and unsure of what to do. They couldn't just let them go, but what would the fairies do it they found out that the dwarves were holding their Princess?
"Is this true?" The King asked Omiel. "Are you the Princess?"
"Yes," said Omiel. There wasn't much of a point in denying it anymore. "And my father will be very angry when he finds you've treated me like a criminal and that your men poked sticks into my back."
"Those weren't sticks!" said Dirk, clearly offended. "They were axes!"
The King shifted uneasily in his chair. "Who are these others with you?"
Omiel decided to make a clean break for it. They would have to try to scare them into letting them go. "This is Omir, my older brother, and heir to my father's throne," she said. "This is Dakir, our servant."
"Don't be a goose, Omiel," said Omir. "He's not a servant, he's a friend."
The King looked upset and perplexed. Finally he spoke. "Dirk," he said, "take these-um-people home and treat them as guests. We will decide on the proper course of action in due time."
Dirk bowed, untied them, and led them away.
"So you're going to the elves?" asked Dirk. "You're fools."
"What's wrong with elves?" asked Dakir.
"Prigs and traitors. Never trust an elf."
"You don't trust elves, fairies, or orcs, I assume," said Omir. "Who do you trust, except for dwarves?"
"I don't trust dwarves, either. I don't trust anyone. But elves are the worst. Especially Lothlorien elves."
"What's wrong with them?"
"Well, as individuals, in general, the elves of Lothlorien aren't better nor worse than other elves. But as a group, they're just creepy. Not to mention their ruled by a beautiful witch-an enchantress named Galadriel. They say she can get into you head, read your thoughts, make you think things you don't want to think."
"Surely you don't believe all that?" asked Omiel.
"I don't believe it and I don't disbelieve it. Whether it's true or not, they're creepy and I don't like them."
"Do you like them less than orcs?"
"I hate orcs," said Dirk. "And you should too, if you know what's good for you."
"They didn't hurt us," said Omiel, more to be contrary than because of any real convictions.
"Evidently they didn't hurt your pride half as much as would have been good for you, Miss Impertinence," said Dirk dryly.
"Nor her tongue either," said Omir in disgust.
"You're talking about my tongue?" asked Omiel sarcastically. "Why don't you talk about 'your friend' after all the slips he made?"
"Who?" asked Omir, puzzled.
"Dakir, of course."
"Ha," said Dirk, "'your friend' as you called him might just have saved you from being imprisoned or worse. The King won't dare to do anything too bad to you now-we can't face war from both orcs and fairies. Not but that the orcs have been fairly quiet recently. It gives me the creeps."
"If it gives you the creeps," asked Omiel, "why were you down there poking into other people's business?"
"Someone has to keep an eye on them," he replied. "In my opinion, The King's been too slack in watching them. You never know when they're going to attack. I see some suspicious things down there, sometimes."
"Like fairies?" asked Omir.
"Yes, and hundreds of weapons being forged and all, but worst is the dancing."
"Dancing?" Dakir sounded amused. "Do orcs dance?"
"These orcs do. It's really creepy. They stand in one place and shake and wave their upper bodies in random patterns2. They don't do it to music, either."
"Aw," said Omiel, laughing, "how cute!"
Dirk glared at her. "My married friend had a nervous breakdown last month," he said. " Now I know why."
Omir snapped his fingers. "Of course!" he said. "Why didn't I ever think of that?"
"What?" asked Dakir.
"Having a nervous breakdown! It would be the perfect solution for getting rid of Omiel."
"Thanks," said Omiel. "Why don't you do that."
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. "Come in," barked Dirk.
A sulky looking dwarf entered. "The King wants to see you and the -uh-guests," he said shortly, and left.
"Is that you friend who had the nervous breakdown?" asked Dakir curiously. He had no idea what a nervous breakdown was and would have liked to see someone who had had one.
"No," said Dirk. "That's another of my friends. He's mad at me for getting him in trouble by making him go down with me to the orc dens." He seemed quite imperturbed by this fact.
Omiel came into the presence of The King slightly frightened. Not of what he might do to them, but of the possibility of his finding the Silmaril. She felt rather nervous as she stood before him.
He seemed inclined to make himself agreeable. "My dear-people," he said, smoothly, "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience all this must have been to you. But we will not delay you any longer. You say you wish to find the elves, I have a map here which will show you the way. I will personally accompany you to the entrance of the mountain. Please understand the precaution. Then you are free to go on as you please."
Omiel smiled uncertainly. This was too easy. Why on Middle Earth would orc fraternizers be released so readily, simply on plea that they were a prince and princess?
They followed the dwarves through seemingly endless labyrinths, twisting and turning this way and that, through mines, great empty halls, and simple blank stretches of tunnels. Finally they came upon a great stone door which was duly unbolted and opened. Only then did Omiel realize just how much she had missed the moon.
It was shining now, mid myriads of stars. She had not known that it was night-there seemed to be no such thing as time in the deep recesses of the mountain-but it seemed natural to come above ground just in time to view such a scene.
"Good-bye," said The King, "I'm so sorry for any inconvenience. You are going to Lothlorien, are you not? That is where the directions lead to."
And then he was gone.
Omir shivered. "Nice of him to turn us out in the middle of the night when we can't travel anyways. And we don't have a tent or anything really."
"I have a blanket of sorts in my knapsack," said Dakir.
Omir looked astonished as he pulled it out. "How did you fit anything else in there? All right then, we'll pitch camp."
For once, Omiel did not oppose the idea.
1 Ulmo is one of the Valar, his province is the water. It is said that he was the father of the second fairie of all time, who in turn was father to a great race. Omir, and all of the fairies of Pacil Herdun, would be his descendants, and often referred to him.
2 Dancing was introduced to orcs by the MOS (Mouth of Sauron). It was especially popular in Mordor, where it became a game to try to dance while the light from the Great Eye of Sauron was resting on one. Orcs would keep a record of how many times they did this and the ones with the most times were highly respected. Outside of Mordor it became a means more of exercise than of entertainment. Orc drill masters in some areas would make their soldiers dance for an hour each day. For more information on orcs dancing, see 'The Lord of The Rings-Nintendo Wii'.
