One night, the Dwarves, who had just finished their work, were surprised to find Gandalf, quietly installed in the Thràin's office, absorbed in the maps of Barum-Nahal.
-« Oh, here you are at last! I was wondering how long it would take before you find the first room!
- We found it immediately, but collecting our wealth has mobilized us for several days! But you seem to think that we shall find others?
- I am convinced that vast stores are close at hand!
- This is a very optimistic wizard! We carefully blocked several galleries to keep us safe from monstrous fire hydra!
- This is what our poor Krorin told me in detail. The poor boy is just beginning to be able to sleep despite his bruises and sore ribs.
- For now, I do not consider us to be out of danger. Fire hydras may have invested the lower depths.
- But I am sure you could easily defeat these hydras, though I doubt there are some left. Obviously, these creatures chased goblins from the place, but a squad of Dwarves, united, motivated, well-equipped and properly led in combat, has been a challenge over their strength. Now they have lost their nest, I doubt they can come together and attack in full force, mindless and incapable of concerted actions as they seem!
- How can we be sure of their complete eradication?
- I cannot be certain, but I guess there are not many left. Obviously these fire hydras are related to dragons, even if they share neither their intelligence nor their deadly power. I fear the egg you destroyed is born from a dragon, maybe even Scatha herself. May we never have to explain to the real mother, what happened to her egg, if she is still alive! But at least it seems clear to me that this egg is related to these creatures, very closely related! I wonder if the 'tongues of fire' from the legends of the North are not precisely the hydras you have overcome, and not the lava as we had thought.
- But how can a dragon egg could produce anything else than a dragon and what's more, many of these creatures?
- I am not sure, O Thràin, Gandalf replied thoughtfully, but I fear that evil has perverted the life principle of your original Mountain. »
Thràin was horrified at the idea:
- « Our sacred duty is to eradicate this dreadful brood! »
Dùring the days that followed, the Dwarf leader had the galleries opened and explored one by one. As Gandalf had predicted, they found little evidence of the most terrible hydras. Yet they had to face a few, lonely and disoriented though impressive. But the cohesion of the Dwarven squad overcame them at the price of a few burns and a broken arm. Dwarves persevered several days and discovered some metals stores, including a room full of silver - but no more hydras.
However, the Dwarf leader felt something missing. He paced the galleries of the lower mines, hoping to complete his conquest. He explored the western corridors of his mines and charted them rigorously. This sense of unfinished persisted despite the undeniable success of discovering stores, well stocked with mine equipment and fire machinery in perfect condition. His instincts and his desires, tenfolded by his ring, led him to have a great portion of a large well unblocked. That proved to be the main route of entry to the under-depths. Probably the dragon had used this way before... Several times they found the remains of unclean food left by creatures they dared not represent in imagination. But it all seemed very old. At the intersection of two major roads that sank to the depths, Thràin had the intuition that his tension would be answered. The heart of the mountain beat to the rhythm of his own heart. He sent for his treasures; Màr and Nàr returned, carrying a jumble - the Moon Lantern, the flag of Dùrin's Folk, the eggs of Thráin and Mar, and the ceremonial ax of their leader.
The lantern revealed nothing, to the disappointment of the three Dwarves. Thràin did not hide his disappointment. He sat, grumbling under his breath, weighing his treasures, while his elders persisted in probing the surrounding rock. He had just decided to break his precious egg, offered in Imladris, when both eggs -his and Mar's - escaped from his hands and began to roll. He stopped the first and blocked it, then set off in pursuit of the second, which took an abnormally high speed in the avenue's gentle slope. The Dwarf leader strove to grasp it, yet the egg bounced unpredictably on the roughness of the ground and escaped for several perches long. Finally the egg miraculously stopped - it was Thràin's. He called his uncles who joined him. Then he solemnly broke his egg on the wall. The heart of the mountain had stopped beating. How disappointed Thràin was: the egg was empty! He eagerly examined each piece of the beautiful shell, in vain. Incredulous, the small group finally resolved to go back, hurling muffled imprecations against Elven proverbial rudeness and duplicity, that Khuzdul tongue alone could render.
Then was revealed a wonderfully hidden door, in the wall that Thràin had struck with his egg. The contours shone faintly. Feverished, the three Dwarves gathered to push, but the door did not open. Yet the edges lit and flickered when words were spoken in Khuzdul. Inspired by Dwarven legends passwords, Thràin spoke a few opening commands in Khuzdul. Each time the contours appeared more clearly, as answering their call, but the door remained closed. Powerlessness had fueled his anger. Enraged, he frantically demanded the opening, hitting both fists on the wall, when the most unexpected and yet the simplest injunction - "open up!" triggered the mechanism.
The room contained wealth, only a Dwarven King could hope to see gathered: mithril ingots, fine gems, jewelry worthy of Elvish forges, sparkling blades... In the center of the small room stood a cylindrical trunk of marble, sealed in the floor. Thráin braced himself to lift the lid, soon helped by his uncles. The safe did not flinch. Then the dwarves tried to unscrew the lid in one direction and then the other. The hemispherical cap stood still, showing no lock, but a runic script ran away in a spiral from the center. Then Thráin noticed that the writing contained a riddle in the language that Dwarves do not reveal:
The true King draws on this wealth to open his safe.
The three Dwarves strained for several hours. They reviewed the various ways a Dwarf King had at his disposal to secure and open a chest. All forms of locks were discussed, including the secret charms of the house of Dùrin. No word had the cover plate shudder. Then they competed to imagine which instruments could force it. They physically tried a few, to no avail except broken scissors. Anxious and irritable, Thràin began to wonder wether the lord of the house of the Stiffbeards was more legitimate than him in these mines. In desperation, Màr mustered all means that a burglar could imagine in such cases. Needless to say, it was in vain.
The three Dwarves, tired and deeply upset despite their great discovery, rejoined their companions. They said nothing of their misadventure but everyone noticed their silence and worried faces. After having their meal, as they were convening with whispers in Thràin's office, they resolved to consult Gandalf. The wizard entered into a dull wrath, announcing that he would rather leave the company immediately if a cover-up like this was to happen again. Therefore Thráin had to endure the reproaches of Arathorn's looks when he was made aware. Yet the Dúnadan leader had the wisdom to claim that he remained convinced of the Dwarf's good faith. He drew extra prestige from that, which exasperated Thráin.
Bera felt deeply uncomfortable in such an atmosphere of suspicion and unspoken, and went out to shift Gràr's guard at the keep. Gerry, sorry for the turn of events, muttered to himself for his part, he did not want any reward and would rely on the generosity of the Dwarves. Arathorn who was smoking sat next to him and Gandalf, dryly remarked that as a squire at his service, he would receive a reward from his lord, if the latter consented.
The remark plunged the wizard in his thoughts, that did not leave him overnight. About the third hour, Gandalf was still tossing and turning on his makeshift bed. Suddenly he straightened up, got up and woke Arathorn and Thràin. He had found the solution to the riddle, he thought. 1 All three went down to the safe room, which Thráin entered alone. As he laid his hands on the lid, the heart of the mountain seemed to stop. Then he uttered the appropriate word in Khuzdul and the cover seemed to detach from the trunk of veined red marble. Then the Dwarf called Gandalf and Arathorn who helped him loosen and gently put it down. Thráin leaned over the edge. His face had regained the enthusiasm and candor of his youth, illuminated by a blue light coming from the bottom of the trunk. He reached in with trembling hands, and pulled a necklace of large size.
Rivers of diamonds, punctuated with a few sapphires and crossed with chips of mithril, swirled into elegant scrollwork and formed several loops. In the center an empty space could accommodate the entire palm of Arathorn. The whole formed an ornament covering shoulders, neck, chest and upper back. The finery might as well be suitable for the thin bare shoulders of an Elven princess as the broad chest of a warrior King. And indeed, the jewel fit perfectly Thràin's shoulders, enhancing his presence, ennobling his port, expanding his size and gestures to make him the true King under the Mountain.
Arathorn marked his admiration, as Gandalf remained confused for a moment:
- « It cannot be what it seems! The Nauglamir was lost when Elwing hurled from the sea cliffs at the mouths of Sirion! »
The wizard looked closer at the beautiful finery under the suspicious eye of Thràin.
- « I can not be categorical, but this wonder truly seems very old! What do you think, Thràin? »
Arathorn, having seen the flash of greed in Thràin's eyes, hastened to put the record straight:
- « Elwing is my far distant ancestor. But my lineage does not claim anything that begat war between Elves and Dwarves. You would be well advised, O Thràin, to do the same!
- What needs to be claimed an inheritance for the Dwarves, is the heir of Dùrin to decide! ", said the Dwarf with a surly air.
The expert look of Thráin left him no doubt:
- « This necklace is virtually weightless on the shoulders, it fits the wearer. This is indeed a work of our fathers, from Nogrod or Belegost. The secrets of this production were lost long ago in the wars with the gray Elves! But mithril is the basis of this work - in no case it may be the Nauglamir, which frame was made of gold! But this is a work of the same hand, the great Telchar himself! »
After a few moments when Gandalf and Arathorn beheld him, imbued with the splendor of King under the Mountain, Thráin added:
- « By the ring of the tribe of Dùrin, last witness of the victorious resistance of the Dwarves, I claim this work as the prerogative of my house and the pledge of my sovereignty over Barum-Nahal. I call it by the secret name I will not say here. You will know it as the Naugwar Mithmirion, the dazzling mithril necklace of the Dwarves! I order you not to reveal this discovery yet! »
The King under the Mountain slipped the jewel beneath his tunic to hide it, and replaced the trunk lid. He distributed some mithril ingots, took some himself and all went up to higher levels.
X-X-X
So the foolish hope of resuming full ownership of the mines with only twelve companions had accomplished for Thràin. There remained many tunnels to explore, to the West, but the threat of the hydras seemed definitely eradicated. For their part, the Dúnedain considered their goal as achieved, and began to make plans to return. Their guards had reconnoitred westward, and reached a ridge in the Misty Mountains. From this promontory they had established a map of the area, yet they had been unable to descend into the valley beyond. Time to decide, especially to share, approached.
Therefore, one morning, Arathorn probed Thràin in the presence of Gandalf, wondering what the Dwarf expected to call his people to him:
-« O Thràin, King under the Mountain. Investing Barum-Nahal was great feat. The danger of fire hydras seems under control. Now the main threat seems to me to come from the goblins, who will soon get wind of your exploits. The hydras, their scourge, being destroyed, and your reclaiming of your mines will certainly attract them shortly. Barum-Nahal will endure an assault sooner or later and must be strengthened. »
Until then Arathorn had won the approval of the dwarves and their leader. The dwarves' visceral hatred toward their hereditary enemies, goblins, accorded with the fair speech of the Dúnadan. But he made the mistake of approaching the topic of wealth:
- « I advise to take the conquered gold to show your allies, your cousins, your people, that the fortress is close at hand. I propose to establish a route that permits to reach your allies and bring them to your aid. »
Maybe Thráin guessed the thought of the Dúnadan - he imagined Arathorn proposed to open a route to the West. It was indeed his fervent wish, but the ranger had accepted in his heart, to extend his help in order to strengthen the Dwarven position by attracting more substantial Dwarven forces to Barum-Nahal. Anyway, the great Dwarf said with some bitterness, suspecting some duplicity:
- « So you want to leave us! Your wise words have no other aim than to win the gold for yourself. The road you are advocating would lead to Bree, I presume!
- My heart remains with my beloved people forever, and my duty is to think about the interests of my folk first! But we have made a covenant and agreement. If you think that the present situation requires that our forces remain at your disposal, we shall stay. But as I said, I do not think we can hold against goblins of the North when they muster again the courage to re-invest the premises. That is why we need to establish ways to allow our allies to join us. We also have to prove our victory in their eyes - gold is the best way!
Thráin long weighed the Dúnadan's logic. The latter felt obliged to insist:
- « We cannot wait beyond mid-Úrui2. We must be on our way at this time to join Eriador or the Iron Mountains. Beyond that, we would risk being caught in terrible mountains storms. The nearer cold weather, more curious goblins will prove and less food or relief shall we find.
- Be honest, Arathorn, if I send you in Eriador with my gold, you will not find the courage to come back!
- If you give me the promised gold, I may raise militias in the South that will allow me to bring here the flower of my rangers!
- After how long? I cannot resolve to untie you by giving you my gold, lest you leave us alone in our plight! »
Arathorn became very ill at this unvarnished distrust.
- « Your distrust makes me doubt to get our share paid, when we come back after your own reinforcements. Remember that we have brought you so far, and you owe us! »
Gerry, who knew now his lord quite well, made then a diversion:
-« Maybe will it appear possible to drink the beer in turn3? Part of the promised share should suffice for now. »
Thráin's dubious silence encouraged the Hobbit in his argument:
-« You should just write the details of your arrangement on a paper, which would enumerate the rights and duties each of you commits to the other. You should also include therein the execution of a fair gold advance that Thráin would make just now before Arathorn comes back with relief or Dùrin's blood reinforcements arrive! The remainder would be expressly set aside, as a token of full refund when the safety of the Mountain is assured. »
Spontaneously, the Hobbit had thought of notarial deeds that began to spread in the Shire, such as the complex documents Masters Grub, Grub and Grub had written before him for his father. The principle of a written agreement, sealed and witnessed, accentuated the solemn and sacred character of word to be kept. He argued:
- « Thus any dispute would be set aside... The Dúnedain could go and open a road, return with assistance and food, with the confidence to earn their share. In return, Thráin could dispatch an envoy to muster his kin. »
Dwarves found this idea, strange but interesting, and finally put it into practice. It is true that many problems arose, such as the evaluation of the treasure that the Dúnedain had already intercepted, the proportion of gold, silver, precious stones, the assessment of yet-to-be-discovered wealth or the value of artifacts of very high worth. Of course a neutral view on a fair advance was needed, and naturaly Gandalf had to deal with it. Màr, Nàr, Ingold, Gerry, Bera and Gandalf were solicited as witnesses. The wizard also received the contract deposit. The agreement stipulated that the Dunedain would still linger two full weeks. Gerry, as a token of gratitude for his skilful mediation, was offered a tiny mobile hearth for goldsmith and jewelery, the Dwarves converted into a pipe. Thus was created the first Dwarven pipe, offered to their worthy professor in the art of smoking pipeweed.
Therefore the allies kept company with each other for a few days, watching carefully. The Dwarves frantically explored the corridors of the depths while the Dúnedain intensified hunting and fishing. Bera and Hirgon taught Barin the smoking of meat and fish, while the rangers were harvesting early fruits of an altitude chestnut grove, tucked away between the two arms of the Mountain.
Meanwhile Gandalf, indifferent to the calculations of all, embarked in a diligent and thorough exploration of the friezes and inscriptions scattered under the mountain. He spent most of his time listening to the rock, browsing the friezes, drawing secret glyphs and planting mysterious markings. Thràin, Màr and Nàr tried repeatedly to discover and understand what the wizard was plotting. The heavy crates marked with the rune "G" had found their use, but their nature still eluded the Dwarves. In desperation they decided to ask Gandalf. But they had spent too much time, spying on him way too awkwardly, or trying to circumvent him on spurious subjects. They were received unkindly, as rude and nosy children. The wizard mounted a wooden scaffolding and lingered long on the ceiling of the throne room, inspecting crevices, sounding the airshafts, deciphering the inscriptions. He consented only to reveal that he was preparing the room for a special day; the center of the city would be ready to receive guests in a royal fashion when the time would come. He hung lights on the ceiling, and hoisted there a few decorations that reminded a few childhood memories to our Hobbit.
One evening, the Dúnedain invited the Dwarves to a meal that was particularly dear to their heart. Each year, the house of Arathorn celebrated the sad anniversary of the fall of Arthedain, the last of the northern kingdoms that fell at the hands of the Witch-King of Angmar. On this occasion, the Dunedain still perpetuated the memory of this glorious era, renewed their vows of guardian of the folks of Eriador, the descendants of the kingdom's inhabitants. The company gathered on the porch, breaking the first chestnut bread baked under the mountain. Under a dome of stars, twinkling in the cool evening air, the Dúnedain headed west. Their faces, turned to their homeland and beyond, Nùmenor the Downfallen, were serious with memories and hope. The waning moon rose in the East and began to light up the marble porch with of a timeless glow. Then a small gray thrush alighted on the makeshift table. The bird chirped a perky tone that seemed almost playful. Arathorn exclaimed joyfully:
-« This is the hour of meditation when comes to us a messenger sent by my kin! »
And it seemed to all a favorable omen. The ranger informed the company that the positive outcome of their journey was known to Rivendell, and that reinforcements were on their way from the western slopes of the Misty Mountains. The evening promising to be joyous, Gràr generously had his flask of wine circulate. Thràin, particularly pleased with these news, was to say "a few words of circumstance" - and probably reveal the Dwarven necklace - when a second thrush landed on the staff the wizard had stored against crates. The bird seemed agitated. Gandalf exchanged a few quick chirps with the thrush that seemed out of resources. Moments later, the wizard said, with a severe and anxious face, he had to leave them for a while.
And it seemed a dark omen. Gandalf stood, arrogated some foods he stuffed in his bag, and addressed the company with a briskly air:
- « I'll be back in three days. If I were to fail you, hide in the royal apartments! Do not let yourselves be surprised! »
The wizard took a few steps, then turned back, hesitating. Finally deciding, he greeted the stunned company and walked away for good. If he were to say more, they would be able to quarrel!
X-X-X
Thráin watched the old man going away on the bridge. When the wizard disappeared, he turned to Nàr:
- « I think I never saw Gandalf that worried. He fears an imminent invasion. We should strengthen the portal against goblins.
- I fear more an underground attack, said the old Dwarf. We have not yet mapped the passages of the lower levels that lead North. We could not defend all the passages. But we should arrange the main avenue to channel our enemies there, and riddle them with arrows!
- Nàr, you are in charge of preparing the inner defenses. Crossbows and the iron bolts we discovered should fit perfectly! And Màr will fortify the entrance! »
The next few days spun as the Dúnedain were absorbed in food chores, trying to ward off the Dwarves for a long siege. No doubt they were pleased with the prospect of returning to their families soon. Yet a part of themselves was reluctant to give up a fight that had not really started. Arathorn harangued his people to remind them that supplies and survival of the new Dwarf kingdom during winter depended on their speed.
Màr, Thràin's old companion, feeling that a great battle was announced, broke his egg at the gate. Gorgeous assorted tools, cleverly nested, were found in the shell - mallet, trowel and chisel were immediately consecrated and tested.
The work, carried out smoothly by a squad of overexcited Dwarves, progressed almost visibly. A thick wall of stones, assembled with the art of Dùrin, now barred the porch. The parapet was twelve feet high, topped by a watch-turret. Access to the wall could be climbed only through a narrow passage at the top of a ladder of stones protruding from the wall. Battlements, built on each side of the road guard, completed the defensive construction, that a staircase linked to the avenue.
Before Arathorn could object, the beasts of burden were therefore trapped in the mine early the next morning. The Dúnedain could not leave the fortress with the amount of wealth they had expected. Thráin's smirk let the ranger assume that the Dwarf had combined this misunderstanding. The Dúnadan, considering himself the hostage more than the host of the King under the Mountain, went into a barely contained rage. Yet he was determined to go on the agreed date, especially since he had finally found a pass that would maybe lead to a west-bound road.
For more safety, Gerry informally received the promise a Dwarf would lead them to the western exits of the mountain beyond the ridges the rangers had explored, "if only one could find them...". Tension was palpable that night; trust between the allies had crumbled to the rhythm of blunders, calculations and pettiness of the two captains. The next day stretched into a long waiting for the Dúnedain, who completed reserves worthy of a besieged fortress. Dwarves deceived their nervousness by refining the defenses. The marble place in front of the porch and the main street were now covered with many firing angles of dozens of crossbows, the metal bolts of which were carefully arranged.
Goblins would need a very large ram to open a passage through the thick stones and rubble wall, but no crew would survive the Dwarven cross shooting. Norin brought a highly appreciated contribution: a pot of pitch, sticky and flammable, was made ready. The guard was established atop the wall, anxious and attentive.
The twilight of the third day flung its lilac glows on top of the Mountain. Gandalf had not returned. Throughout the night, the air warmed in the mines. The lower slopes of the volcano, wet with melted ice, glowed intermittently under the thin moon flying from cloud to cloud. Anyone no longer perceived any beat. The Mountain held its breath.
An hour before dawn, Arathorn climbed down the guard wall and ventured beyond the valley. His small thrush wriggled like a puppy in anticipation of an early morning walk, affectionately rubbing her beak on the leather straps of his quiver. Sending forth the bird through the skies, the ranger explored a wide area while darkness took refuge in the depths of ditches. Suddenly a red dawn revealed the volcano. His immaculate cone sprang like a fire alarm in the night. Then direct light invaded the heather hills and pierced under thorns. But the radiant colors of Barum-Nahal stubbornly refused to hatch. The morning warbling stammered, choking before exploding. The ranger, inspiring at full lung, felt the reluctance of the nature-flowers refused to open, daytime fauna persisted to huddle. A day of the sword was coming.
Arathorn regained the guard wall and climbed the stone ladder. The Dúnedain who were waiting, fully armed, followed him. The Dwarves contemplated his face contorted with determination, and fearing a coup, followed him into the ceremonial room. Thràin had lit, among Gandalf's lamps, those that were accessible. Arathorn stood before Thráin and asked that would be respected the commitments made in Rivendell and confirmed a few days ago.
-« We have kept our promise and stayed with you to prepare for a siege. But as I predicted, we waited too long to summon for help and provide evidence of our success. The attack of the enemy is imminent. My ranger heart is sure about that. »
The great Dwarf, wearing a golden tiara and perched on the stone throne under the majestic dome, raised his flushed face to the complainant:
- Your vain reproaches are twice unwelcome! For you know nothing about defending a fortress and ignore the power of the King under the Mountain, Bearer of both treasures of his House. »
Our reader will probably be grateful to be enlightened about Thráin's proud speech. In the old days, seven rings of power were offered to the Lords of the Dwarves. These precious items confered moral strength, perseverance, and unusual resistance, of both body and mind, and a great ability to rally and dominate his people. Unlike the nine lords of Men, Naugrims were not overwhelmed by the power of the enemy and they did not fall under his rule. Yet their ring increased their pride and lust for wealth. Furious at his failed attemps to bind them, the Dark Lord cursed the Dwarven Houses. All of their rings were taken or destroyed, except the line of Dùrin's ring. After all these years of wandering and humiliation, one can easily imagine the feeling of revenge and power experienced by Thráin, single Dwarf King holding a ring of power, who bore the Naugwar Mithmirion and ruled as King under the original Mountain of his people. Sure about his rights, his strength and his destiny, he castigated the complainant from his high throne :
- « At last you wait the hour of our need to beg permission to take flight!
- I refuse a hopeless fight to no avail, because the blind general sticks to his throne. I shall get reinforcements, whether you like it or not, to win this war. If you had listened to me, three dozen of my relatives and friends would now stand just a few hours of walk. Instead we need now to guide them to us in emergency, through unfamiliar passes. You are looking for so unattainable a victory, that you will succumb!
- My house and my shield need this victory and will get it since we may not befall otherwise under the dome of Barum-Nahal! Anyone who leaves my covenant on the very day of the trial is a traitor and deserves no reward!
- Thus is revealed the true reason for your dithering. I never thought the House of Dùrin would tarnish its reputation to this point, by the avarice of his heir! I call upon you to honor the written treaty your witnesses signed! Or are you hoping to force me to stay on the grounds that the custodian of the agreement fails us for the moment? »
Now the Dwarf lord had stood up, clutching convulsively the arms of his stone seat:
- « I grant you what was written. So do run to be cut to pieces! These riches will reintegrated my treasure when we slain your winners!
- The masks have fallen: You want our defeat! But the defense established excludes to drive the mounts out through the front door. Yet I intend to go with what was promised, since it gives me the best insurance to mobilize my greatest strength. Have us led to the Western galleries or deliver us a plan! » Arathorn finished drawing his long shining sword.
Thráin revealed his gold ring and seemed to grow, crowned with the power of his ancestors. The Dwarves, warmed up by the fervor of Thràin and the menaces of defection of Arathorn, remained nonetheless sensitive to the ranger's arguments. The Dúnedain, irritated by the cantankerous tone, the unjust accusations and the questionable tactical judgment of the King under the Mountain, would not abandon their companions on the verge of an orc invasion. Bera, paralyzed, gazed the man of her thoughts striding towards his destiny. All regretted that deadly antagonism, but each would support his lord... Only Gerry kept an ounce of common sense, sorry about the overflowing pride of so great captains. He saw with dismay the rival kings advancing towards each other. He remembered his lady evoking the dangers of pride to the council of Rivendell. Our Hobbit, still young, had previously been lulled by the illusion of strength and responsibility of the adults around him. This lure had collapsed. He had abandoned the hope that his elders would prefer reason to honor. Of course life without proof of a gentle-Hobbit indulged by birth predisposed him to some cowardice. But he felt confusedly an irremediable mess impose relentlessly. With tearful eyes, he staggered between the protagonists, imploring reason and compassion. But Thràin ignored him, brandishing his great battle ax and wielding his shield.
X-X-X
A roar froze them all. The throne room suddenly rang with the clamor of a thousand brazen trumpets. The battle cry of a lizard from the former ages of the world, spread in the tunnels like a venom poisons and quickly paralyzes all the limbs of the prey. As the great echo slowly died, hurried footsteps were heard in the avenue. Gandalf, disheveled and his face deeply lined and drawn, burst into the room. Breathless, he considered the scene with a bitter glance:
- « Poor fools! The great worm is on you! In battle formation! »
The limping wizard urged the Dwarves, with little success. The curse of Dùrin's Folk haunted the minds of each of them. While they had found a major stronghold, the scourge of their kind was catching them up at the moment a meanness was to taint the splendor of their new kingdom. How could anyone see a chance in that...
The worm's rumor swelled in the avenue. Grunts rang out as many oaths of hatred and promises of death, while claws screeching on the rock squealed in the air. Then in desperation, Gandalf used a word of power - lightning slammed with a jerk and an invigorating thrill shook the company. Arathorn led his Dúnedain and their horses to one of the alcoves that surrounded the room. It gave access to a gallery joining the royal apartments. The Dwarves in full strength gathered around their king, who seemed struck dumb by fate.
But suddenly the stench of the dragon was on them. Fetid exhalation enveloped them, obliterating their breathing and soothing their limbs. Reeks of pestilential marshes, stinking acid sulfur flooded the hall with their viscous and suffocating vapors. Gandalf shook Thràin with his commanding voice:
-« We must confine him to this room until things turn at our advantage! Divide and find shelter in the alcoves to harass him! I'll let you know when all have to retreat to the outer rooms! Go! »
The wizard, staggering, lit a few lamps with a gesture and took post on the outer part of the room, gasping and bent on his staff. The Dwarves finally dragged Thráin and barely had time to arm. Heavy chain mails or plates were completed with shields, helmets and battle-masks. War-axes and maces flashed in the dark, sharp and vivid reflections of the Dwarves resolution.
The dragon stood at the entrance of the room, obliterating any light from the end of the avenue. He spread his huge wings as a challenge. The stench that assailed the company at the beat of the gusting wings, became unbearable. His long and sinuous body, slim but horribly powerful, sparkled on his scales of midnight blue to gray-green. His foul belly gleamed with pestilential humors. Standing on his hind legs, the worm scanned the room. His lizard slit eyes narrowed with malice when he spoke:
-« So the rumors that reached the North hold some truth! The Mountain shudders again. But thieves are coupled with liars. I see no King under the Mountain. The least brigand of the hills could afford such a company! It is time for a true sovereign to establish here, provided there is some wealth in this dump. »
Thràin was wearing the Dwarven necklace and brandished his great ax in his fist, bathed with golden light. He stepped forward, leaving a side alcove. The dragon turned to the great Dwarf and brought to him his long tail, bristling with sharp spines. Arathorn was watching the scene with Bera, hidden in an opposite alcove. He had sent his Dúnedain to lead the loaded mounts in a safe place.
Dragons are strange beings. Their strong constitution allows them deprivation, unimaginable for Hobbits or even hardened rangers. This one came out of years of lethargy in his landmark at the northern end of the Misty Mountains. His usual diet consisted in wild sheep or goats, sometimes enhanced by a few goblins when they were to venture too near his lair. With a sharp intellect, he was not above a conversation with his prey when he could obtain information or a pleasant flattery.
His name was Scorba. Like all dragons, full of himself, he aspired to power and supremacy. Despite his dismissive remarks, the worm had rushed after the rumor of wealth. Scorba noted bitterly that he was not rendered the honors due to his rank. It is true he was a young dragon - thin and fast, he easily outdistanced any other worm, but he still lacked the physical power as much as the skin caparisoned of the old hardened dragons. In addition, his den enjoyed only a minor treasure. Thus his reputation did not exceeded the narrow circle of goblin tribes around his den, who paid tribute to him in theory, and on which he was feasting on the occasion. Suddenly the dragon noticed a small trembling figure, prostrate in the middle of the large room. His ego was very comfortable about that, and this is why he decided not to immediately eradicate all life around.
-« This is perhaps the wisest of the king's guard: he honors my splendor and is already prostrate! »
Gerry had not found the resource to flee; He had collapsed and was shaking like a rabbit under his dwarven coat. He realized he was talked to, but he found himself paralyzed. The powerful voice, vibrating with majesty and pride, invested completely his chest, his ears, his skull, his mind. He played for a moment with the thought of pulling out his ring. But brandishing a golden jewel before a dragon did not seem to him a wondrous discovery. The worm put his neck forth and sniffed the trembling Hobbit. He did not recognize the smell but did not depart from his haughty majesty, though his curiosity was piqued:
- « To reward you, little Being, I shall grant you the title of the first servant of Scorba the magnificent! You will be the first of your kind, I make slaves of! »
Thráin was only waiting for an opportunity like this. Facing this long side of the dragon, he rushed, followed by Frerin and Norin. But Scorba was on his guard - he turned quickly to the attackers and threw on them, with his open mouth, the powerful jet of hot liquid. Dwarves recoiled in shock. A moment later they felt violent itching to all defects of their armors. Frerin retreated, screaming he could not see any more. Norin was lying in a pool of acid, fuming and burning, that his blood began to stain.
But Arathorn in turn rushed silently in the back of Scorba. He narrowly avoided the deadly tail and picked up the trembling package in the middle of the room. A moment later Forin and Mar were in turn repulsed - Scorba proved quick and merciless. Arathorn took cover and put Gerry away, while Bera and the Dwarves took turns trying their luck. The dragon, vivid as lightning, remained at the center of the room where he could move easily, and avoided the periphery of the room, which ceiling was much lower. The companions, picking up their wounded, sheltered now behind their shields and pillars that surrounded the room to ward off the cruel attacks of acid. But Scorba's main weapon had devastating effects: he launched his tail, sweeping powerful strokes to the periphery of the room. Thus half of the Dwarves were already out of action, if not worse.
Thràin, desperate, realized that only a simultaneous attack on all fronts, would allow to wound the angry dragon. But he had already lost many fighters, reducing the likelihood of success of such a maneuver. He was about to throw all his forces in the battle, when the entire mountain sounded with a roar of defiance. The low rumble of an old dragon, sure of his strength and domineering, swept the air of the room. A distant crash had the Dwarves understand that their fortification of the entrance was destroyed. The ceiling of the room trembled as heavy steps and hungry growls approached. Scorba curled up at the bottom of the hall, ready to pounce on the new visitor.
Thráin and Arathorn then had the same idea and assailed him by stealth. The flexible dragon swept them with the back of his tail, propelling them into the adjoining room where Gerry was shaking. He was about to join them and kill them when Gandalf intervened, sword and staff forth. Scorba braced himself to project his mortal breath, but a small thrush aggressively whirled around his eyes. The bird saved Gandalf from an acid stream that spread not far, but she was swallowed by agile jaws.
The Dwarves' company, transfixed for a time, took advantage of the diversion to drag their wounded away. A huge head, hideous, appeared at the entrance of the room. Crimson scales shimmering with gold and precious stones covered with thick jowls. The mouth showed rows of gigantic fangs – the jaw would be able to ingest three Dwarves simultaneously. The cunning eyes, covered by three eyelids, expressed a false sense of languor, but nothing escaped the crippling gaze of the old dragon. A renewed wave of stench assailed the company: a rancid and bitter bilious stink overcame the Dwarves who were still valid. The head, bristled with fangs though closed, advanced, precursor of a huge reptilian body, armored with scales more powerful than steal. His deliberate slowness evoked the threat of a devastating bite. The two monsters stared at length, the peak of the old giant pulsating to the rhythm of young Scorba's swinging neck.
Then Gandalf, tearfully, acted promptly. He charged the Bearning to evacuate the Dwarves to the central fountain of the royal apartments. Bera, in the form of a Big Bear, obeyed efficiently with great rapidity. The last valid Dwarves helped her there. But they could not find Thràin. The latter was in an adjoining room with Gerry and Arathorn, all inanimate. The wizard revealed himself, stepping between the two dragons in the ceremonial room. Constantly keeping his staff forward, but looking down not to cross the dangerous look of the great saurian, he worshiped Scorba with compunction:
-« O infinite power of the Northern Heavens, your slaves have completed the task you entrusted to them. Your layer is covered with gold and precious stones. The walls are hung with silks of former King Thingol. The surrounding tribes sent emissaries to express their submission to the undisputed owner, Scorba the Magnificent. »
Dragons possess a keen intelligence, but also an immoderate pride. The young dragon understood very well the intentions of the wizard, who obviously wanted to provoke a fight between the two dragons. He also knew that his great rival too had perceived these intentions. The two dragons, despite the veil of illusion that pride may impose, did not doubt that the wizard's foresight made him fully aware of these subtleties. Only the reference to the treasure left both dragons puzzled, torn between greed and mistrust. However, in this game of false dupes, the satisfaction of being presented as the lord of the place, procured Scorba a delicious thrill of pride. The shiver of jealousy of his congener, yet opponent Corlagon, was also deeply rewarding. Scorba did not take his eyes off the newcomer, whom Gandalf had pointedly ignored. The great dragon, whose role as second in this theater play he despised, raised his powerful and melodious bass voice:
-« The only ruler of the Northern Mountains is Corlagon the Terrible. Do not think, old gray man, that your duplicity may go unpunished for long.
- I defer to the sovereign omnipotence of Scorba the Magnificent! »
Gandalf left no opportunity for any of the two monsters of pride - they were to compete to the death. Only after would the winner deal with the wizard and his gang! Gandalf bowed down, pulled back slightly and let the fight engage. Corlagon first seemed to try and catch the wizard, but at the last moment he turned his momentum to snap Scorba with his powerful jaw. The young and agile dragon was not to be taken so easily and counter-attacked using his great mobility. The great vault, the adjoining rooms and the surrounding galleries were filled with furious cries of the two champions who tried to rip each other apart. An acrid smell of acid and burned blood spread in the corridors.
Gerry recovered first, brought back to consciousness by the violent upheavals and bellowing of Scorba and Corlagon. He pulled Arathorn then Thráin farther in the hall, hoping to elude the fury of the dragons. Indeed, in their fight to death, the two worms had already destroyed the stone furniture and most alcoves surrounding the large vault. The passages to the spacious adjoining rooms now widely gaped, and the duel could at any time be given therein. Gerry pulled the two bodies as best as he could, but he was soon overwhelmed by the horror and stench of the big worms. He tried to crawl to a ventilation opening at the bottom of the room, and vanished amid the rubble.
Gandalf, in turn, checked that the company had completely evacuated the neighbourhood of the hall. He no longer saw Arathorn, Thràin and Gerry where he imagined he would find them, dead or fainted. Assuming that they too had evacuated, he escaped the hall, full of hope. It was time to reveal the power of Gandalf the Grey.
1 Only the eager will read this note! The wise will override and find the answer themselves. The true King draws on this wealth to open his safe. The answer is: generosity.
2 Approximately the beginning of August.
3 Expression used in the South Farthing's buroughs in the Shire. Today would rather be said « split the difference »