The wizard quickly climbed up the staircase to a reserve located near the ceiling of the great hall. He had appropriated this isolated storage as he was completing his research and concluded the mysterious preparations for the great hall. The walls roared at times while the lizards dueling continued. On the stone tablet were arranged four strands of different colors. His eyes bright with intense determination, Gandalf raised his staff and set fire declaiming:
- « Amlug Ûr-dangen »1
Immediately four colored flames, which reminded an open dragon mouth, danced on the wicks they consumed at different speeds.
« May the two Kings reconcile around your bones! », He added before disappearing.
He ran down the stairs and joined Bera in the hallway leading to the old workshops. The great Bear was using every means to prevent the valid Dwarves to run and fight the dragon. She had saved three Dwarves protecting them from huge blocks dropping from the ceiling. Gandalf had to use his voice of command to have them listen to reason. That's when the ground slipped away under their feet, throwing the Dwarves on their wounded comrades - the rock around them rumbled for several seconds, they believed forever. Blinded by dense rock dust, deafened by the roar of the explosion, destabilized by the persisting vibrations, the Dwarves thought their last hour had come. Gandalf himself believed for a moment that his fireworks had sparked an eruption of the old volcano. However, the noise subsided and after a few minutes, the air became again breathable. The valid were working to revive the other when the Dúnedain, pulling their horses, joined them by an avenue leading to the western outposts. They said they had lost two mules and that plans were unusable because entire sections of tunnel had collapsed. Gandalf took the lead, leaving them no time to argue:
-« One way or another, we must reach the entrance, either to exit to or to barricade us. Forward! »
After giving first aid to the injured, they charged them on the remaining mounts and ventured into the cluttered galleries of the old forges.
X-X-X
When the explosion occurred in the ceremonial hall, Thráin and Arathorn were laying unconscious in the middle of a side room, lit by a skylight well. At the great days of Barum-Nahal, memorable banquets had to be given there. Several vents terminated there - the Hobbit had vanished under a pile of rubble, that had fallen from one of them. This dining room was reached by a short passage under an arch of twelve feet high. This side piece is described here as "small" since the top of its vault did not exceed twenty feet. Scorba would have been forced to fold its wings to enter. As for Corlagon, his stature of old stale and bloated dragon would have forced him to some creeping to spread his enormous paunch by the passage of two yards wide.
The blast of the explosion threw Thráin and Arathorn against the wall facing the opening that leading to the ceremonial hall. Then the collapse unrolled its thunder in spurts. A horrible rattle lasted after the earthquake, in clouds of dust that thickened up, and went off in a dead silence. The Dúnadan and the Dwarf, stired from their torpor, twitched when smoke began to dissipate. But the fire that animated Thràin, bearer of the Naugwar Mithmirion and the ring of Thrór, surpassed Arathorn's thirst for greatness. The Dwarf sat up, eyes shining, crowned with an invincible faith. He grabbed the shield hanged at his neck by the strap, and ran pick his ax. By the time he turned around, a large head, with silver and blue scales and horns, emerged slowly from the fumaroles of the hallway. The slit eyes of the big worm exhaled a deadly malice. His viscous lips trembled with gall and loath - or what could these spasms be? The visceral hatred of the Dwarf lighted his anger. Thráin seemed to grow as he walked under the hot light beam that diagonally rived the swirls of dust.
-« King under the Mountain !, belched Scorba disdainfully. It takes more than a necklace of Doriath and a ring of power to enthrone a King. I have overcome the old Corlagon! Prostrate before me!
- You lie, foul worm, brood of the mother of carrion! Others than you have slain him by deception, and you will join him into the void. »
It was time for the killing - the big worm did not answer but his whole body appeared, framed by the collapsed friezes. Thráin noticed that the beast was suffering from a broken wing, dangling miserably from his right flank to the ground. The monster took a few steps in the direction of the Dwarf, assembling his venom to spray and burn his opponent. Then the great Dwarf perceived, when the dragon rippled, that his tail was severed at two-thirds and he lost black blood. The beast had intended to finish quickly but it was sorely weakened. The dusty air of the room was so stenched, that the fighters merely fainted. The dragon darted a malicious look at the Dwarf:
-« May all your friends fail you today and forever! »
Without anybody noticing, a small thrush had introduced by the skylights. She had hopped up to the Dúnadan and climbed on his face, picketing him to get a reaction. Arathorn regained his senses - when he straightened, a shooting pain mowed right through him. Supporting his cracked rib, he crawled into the dragon's back and picked up his sword, which flashed when seized, while the worm expelled his bile. Thráin's shield worked wonders - a sheaf of acid splashed around him, as if a golden orb protected him in the way of the umbrella of a Hobbit lady. The Dwarf came forward, ready to strike too.
Hardly mastering his pain, Arathorn attended the dragon's charge who threw all his weight, fangs forward. The shield of Thràin, split asunder and still bearing a tooth of Scorba planted, was ejected several feet away. But the great Dwarf had stood! The dragon backed away, with his back just in front of Arathorn, who stil went un noticed. Thráin screamed, overproud, to the attention of the Dúnadan who had raised his sword to strike thrusting with both hands:
-« The glory of this victory is mine, the true King under the Mountain! »
The great Dwarf charged the dragon, hampered by the foul and slimy bile poured out on the pavement. But his stroke went astray, and his left arm was suddenly torn by the horrible and skillful mouth. Arathorn, a moment transfixed by Thràin's injunction, felt in him, meddling with resentment, a strange languor, as if the stench of the dragon, through his throat and lungs, reached his arteries, numbing his members and obscuring his thoughts. He muttered to himself with a sardonic wince:
-« How far will you bear this solitary glory - to the throne or to the grave? »
The fallen Dwarf, wounded and desperate, managed to avoid an attack, then another. Arathorn saw the dragon shook with spasms and knew that the time had come for the monster. Meanwhile Thráin, collecting his remaining strength, stuck his ax into the eye of the monster. This achievement will forever remain one of the high feats revered by the Longbeards. But the great Dwarf was in uneasy a position. In a daydream, as under the influence of a charm, the Dúnadan saw him struggling, trying to capture a short sword at his belt. The small thrush, on the shoulder of Arathorn, bit savagely his ear - he finally came to his senses. In a white flash, he cut the major tendons of the right paw of the monster, which rolled onto the Dwarf. Then, acting quickly and forgetting his pain, the Dúnadan avoided the fatal convulsions and methodically dispatched of the dragon.
Finally, ready to faint, Arathorn cleared the Dwarf as well as he could. It was too late. The Dwarf, broken, laid unconscious. The ranger recovered his breath, overcome by the pain at his sides and along its limbs. Then the dragon spoke for the last time, with the foreknowledge granted by the ultimate breath, but without loosing his malevolence:
-« Traitor to your ally, felon captain and perjury guide. What a fine lineage who claims to rule the North! But soon you will be freed from your burden... since you will lack both courage and tenacity to keep up your vows! »
The offensive insinuation ended in a lewd gurgling. Pale with shame and fear, retching in the stench of the dragon, Arathorn had just slain the monster.
Extruding his steaming sword, he stepped back, contemplating the corpses with a dry and expressionless face. The small thrush escaped his shoulder. She had spotted Gerry and came to provide him with her active attention, but the Dúnadan was trapped in his insidious thoughts. For long minutes, while the thrush managed to pull Gerry from his swoon, Arathorn meditated in the vile fumes.
The great Dwarf had shown true to himself, uncompromising, overly proud and insulting. He had formally terminated their alliance, up to wishing the death of the Dúnedain. One could even say that Thráin considered him a rival, if not an opponent... Like his forefathers, he had succumbed to the immoderation of gold and power, and he had fallen, disavowing his allies. Under these conditions, Arathorn was no longer to feel any obligation toward the house of Dùrin. This fallen lineage had lost its treasures that would stay idle, useless in the dust...
Probably the Dúnadan should have disobeyed Thráin earlier and rescue him despite himself. The dragon's accusation, obviously slanderous, did not, however, let his conscience in peace. The worm's sarcasms still rang in his ears. He who patiently prepared the return of the King, whose premonitory dreams had proved in accordance with Malbeth's ancient prophecy, would now lack courage to seize the opportunity for his people? The dwarven alliance proved pointless, but chance had put in his hands the instruments of renewal. His duty was to seize them. The Dúnadan made his decision: the lies of the big worm would be denounced, he would find the will to take advantage of circumstances and achieve the goal of his life! He approached the Dwarf and he withdrew his two treasures - the ring of Thrór and the Naugwar Mithmirion - hiding them in his bag. Then he pulled away and left the room, wincing in pain.
Our Hobbit, overcome and forgotten, eventually came to Thràin's side. Grace was leaving the serene face of the great Dwarf. He seemed to have lost all majesty, beyond death, when he was stripped of the treasures of his house. But Gerry was the one who lost the most that day: he witnessed the heinous crime of his captain, but he had not found the strength to protest and now took refuge in silent tears, contemplating the body of Thràin and the shreds of his ideals.
Horror had just shown its grimacing face to Gerry, hitting him with full force and attempting to scare and stifle his radiant soul. Gasping at the betrayal of Arathorn and his guts knotted by his own cowardice, he arranged the body, washed Thráin's face as best he could and remained with the great Dwarf until nightfall. Then horror faded slowly, regaining the stinking darkness it came from, taking for ransom, relentlessly, a part of the Hobbit's youth.
X-X-X
That is how Màr, Bera and Gandalf found him, exhausted or unconscious, besides the great Dwarf. They woke the Hobbit and forced him to drink a little miruvor and water. Màr crouched beside the body of Thràin, covering his head with his cap and wailing softly under his breath. Gerry immediately burst into tears at the memory of the tragic events. Gandalf, misunderstanding as to the cause of his crying and carrying himself an intolerable sense of guilt, said:
-« I regret I had no time to give my instructions before the dragons arrived. We should all have been out of reach when I launched lightning on their heads. But it seems Thraïn has already got revenge... His sacrifice was not in vain - the world is rid of two evils...»
But Bera bent over the body and exclaimed:
-« Breath has not yet left him! We must be swift. »
She carried the Dwarf in a drier place and stripped him of the remainder of his armor. Màr immediately noticed the absence of the treasures of the line of Dùrin. He quickly rummaged around, but his revived hopes momentarily banished his suspicion in the background of his mind.
Thràin was slowly carried, over the broken pieces of his shield, to the guard rooms of the citadel. The small company crossed the stinking chaos of the large hall, following Màr who was clearing hard to ease the passage of the stretcher. Corlagon laid there, gutted and head exploded under a block of six feet in diameter. All felt better when they were away from the unspeakable sewer.
The guard rooms had undergone little or no damage, despite the destruction of the defense parapet. The Dúnedain had attended to their horses and turned the housing into infirmary. All the Dwarves had paid their courage, when fighting against Scorba, with a small or large wound. Nàr had succumbed quickly, his rib cage smashed. In addition to the critical state of Thràin, Barin, Frerin and Bafur's survival was doubtful. Bera, Gerry and the Dúnedain were busy around the wounded, their faces worn. Thràin was laid on a makeshift bed and Ingold examined him long. His diagnosis hardly encouraged the Dwarves: the patient had been deprived of his left forearm, he suffered numerous bruises and cuts, several ribs were broken, but the healer's fears involved possible undetectable internal injuries - the dragon had crushed him with its tremendous weight. A thick, dark blood welled to the corners of his lips. He recommended rest as the only remedy, besides a concoction that purified the air in the room and facilitated breathing for all patients. Gandalf was even asked to put away his weedpipe while the night watch prolonged.
The wizard was tempted to go stand guard outside to enjoy the relaxing effects of pipe-weed, but he preferred to stay with his comrades to prevent any slippage. The Dwarves showed little gratitude for the Dúnedain's cares. The eyes of the people of Dùrin carried heavy reproaches against the rangers since they had missed the critical moment facing the dragons. Gerry, who had watched Thráin's body as a father when he was abandoned by all, was finally adopted as a Dwarf of honor. He was pressed with questions about Arathorn, but, not wanting to say anything, he displayed no knowledge. In the midst of this tense atmosphere, Arathorn, lonely and last, joined the company. He had a gray complexion, he seemed to have heavily fighting - only Bera realized that these were internal struggles. His gaze into the distance, he held a withered and broken branch as if it had been his most precious possession. Arathorn let himself be healed and laid down, without uttering a single word.
The company slept badly, healers watching and patients waking up frequently. At dawn Frerin was lost. Later in the day Bafur passed away. Màr, tearful, organized the erection of the burial site of the three dead, away in a room overlooking the avenue. The Dúnedain thus left alone with half a dozen bedridden dwarves, completely distraught at the prospect of losing their leader. This period of confusion was not an opportunity to strengthen the bonds of community. Arathorn acted remotely, giving orders but forgetting he gave them. Gandalf noticed that the Hobbit absolutely avoided being alone with Arathorn, and conceived a few questions.
The next night, the healers alerted the company because Thràin had awakened. He had talked a little and accepted a few spoons of broth, before falling asleep again. A tenuous hope reappeared among the Dwarves despite their comrades death. All went back to sleep, but Màr's mind could find no rest. The next day Thráin spat some blood and complained about many pains. But he was alert enough to hear Màr's fears. Against Ingold's advice, the old Dwarf told Thràin that the Dwarf necklace and the ring were lost.
Thràin's face contracted, and the great Dwarf pretended to get up. Helped by two young Dwarves, he succeeded and said for everyone to hear:
- "I am the victor of Scorba the dragon! I am the new King under the Mountain Barum-Nahal! By law and the might of our arms, I curse whoever robbed me and my house of our treasures! I deny the robber all enjoyment of the theft! "
Nobody was named in his curse, but his looks denounced Arathorn. The great Dwarf was laid back and vomitted repeatedly, under the anxious eyes of his family. Arathorn livid face showed gray orbits – he had received the furious looks of the dying as a slap, not pretending to answer.
X-X-X
The company had utterly split. The next day, the Dwarves decided, under the leadership of Màr, to join their cousins in the Iron Mountains. There they would find assistance and resources. Meaning to leave their dubious allies as quickly as possible, old Màr thought that was the right thing to do, since he could convene with neither Nàr nor Thráin, whose condition was deteriorating. Arathorn, by calculation, let the Dwarves take the lead, to prevent any rumpus about the treasure. Dwarves harnassed their wounded comrades on the ponies, and went off limping, vowing to return in force under the command of a restored Thráin. The parting was short, the rangers showing extreme reserve toward the Dwarves, in solidarity with their leader. Gerry painfully saw the Dwarves go away, these harsh but true companions, the hardships and hopes of whom he had shared for a time.
Ths Dwarves line had not yet passed the third bridge, when Arathorn gave the order for departure. Gandalf consented, but a brief altercation opposed him to the Dúnadan, about the best route home. They opted, as the ranger insisted on it, for a lost road in the moors, leading to a rocky pass far to the southwest of the mountain. Once the remaining mules had been loaded with a few boxes and the reserves still available, all set off with a heavy heart.
The Dúnedain company, that Bera, Gerry and Gandalf complemented, crossed the bridges and passed the castelets. Gerry had turned and gazed at the majestic entrance of Barum-Nahal, when a small thrush landed on his shoulder, under the astonished gaze of Gandalf. As the bird cackled madly, the Hobbit felt an inexplicable chill up his spine. Under the puzzled look of Arathorn, the wizard held his index and invited the thrush there. Listening at length, he said suddenly:
-« I do not like it! Treason looming in the shadows! »
Arathorn threw an anxious and guilty look, the wizard caught. Gandalf, who thought rather of an ambush, did not attempt to unravel what remorse weighed on the Dúnadan's heart, since time was missing. The three mules were entrusted to Gerry and all the others silently rushed under the foliage, spurred by Gandalf who foresaw an irreparable misfortune.
The rangers sneaked the woods, running with light feet on the carpet of pine needles. In action and despite his unbearable ribs pain, Arathorn had found a leader's soul back. Coming out of a thicket, the rangers suddenly had the enemy in sight.
The Dwarves company was ambushed in a ravine. The terrified ponies had knocked down most of the dwarves who were lying in the mud, motionless or trying desperately to covert. Fràr and Gràr, sheltered behind a granite block, tryed to rally behind the screen of their shields, their companions still valid. Màr covered with his targe, Thráin who was unaware. The Dúnedain saw a group of great warriors equipped with dark leather, coming down the slope, their weapons the ready for the kill. But a gray fur equipped with a huge mouth already stood amidst the Dwarves, spreading death and ripping limbs and necks - a werewolf had found them!
- « Back! » Gandalf yelled, rushing toward the monster. His sword was kindled with a deadly glow while leaving the sheath. The Dúnedain followed with the cry of « Arnor! »
It was more than time for them to come. A dark mist already bathed the ravine bottom like swampy waters flood and infect healthy crops. A morbid torpor had seized the Dwarves, affected by corrupt vapor. Since they stood in daylight, the monster roared and bared fangs but could not face the wrath of the wizard. He flew, leaving the Black Forest scouts struggle with the Dúnedain. The fury of the rangers proved the more relentless - they annihilated the front row and fell like a thunderbolt on the second. Arathorn revealed the power of his avenging arm. Driven by an inner strength tenfold by some unknown stimulus, he sank to his opponents, each of his blows dealing a fatal wound. Besides him, his men repulsed the enemy horde, supported by some valid Dwarves. The Dúnadan fully felt the power of the ring of Thrór, welling in his limbs - all pain faded, his assembled retainers fenced and feinted with coordination and unparalleled accuracy, confident in his command and his worth.
The company succeeded in winning the top of the hill. A cry of distress resounded in their backs - the werewolf, previously thought to be at large, had bypassed the line to hit the Dwarf King. But Màr was watching and fell before Thràin could be hit. Then an onslaugh came upon the monster. A great bear, her mouth foaming, popped on its back and snapped the wolf by the neck. A stream of black blood spurted and the monster dropped its prey. Yet its strength of ten men allowed him to get away, throwing the bear in the thickets. Wolf and Bear froze themselves, face to face.
Arathorn, as the line of his enemies defeated and sparse, took a risk and slew their leader with an artfull thrust, then ordered the survivors, who disbanded, to be pursued. Gandalf then turned his attention to the monster - along with the ranger, he rushed alongside Bera. Then the werewolf yielded. Surrounded on all sides, taking blows on injuries, he had to back further, and fled into the woods, pursued by the bear and the wizard.
Then Arathorn stopped, moved by an inspiration of redemption. He retired from the assault and ran to Thràin's side. Worth in combat had recalled his sense of honor - he would surrender to Thràin the treasures of his house.
When he reached the ravine, he had first to pull out of the shadows, the inanimate bodies of Dwarves who bathed in a sordid and repulsive heavy mist. He dragged the bodies on the slope, placing their heads up to release their airways. For some, he had lavish gestures of resuscitation, since the victims appeared to him weak, pasty and lifeless. He did the same with Màr whose body was lying unconscious across Thràin, and with the great Dwarf itself.
The Dwarf leader breathed with difficulty. Arathorn, wincing in pain, knelt beside him and pulled the ring from his own finger. He mobilized all his fortitude to take the palm of Thràin and present the jewel to his ring finger. The stone shone in the sun. Giving up a power that was offered had appeared to him as a betrayal of his people. At present, sacrificing the righteousness of his own house by denying its legacy to an even more ancient lineage, seemed outrageous. More than anything he did not feel able to take forever the weight of such a power to the people. Yet such potential drop him now was difficult ...
He renounced the power, slipped the ring on Thràin's finger and was seized with an intense pain.
X-X-X
As his companions had gone forward, Gerry was on his own, with his little Hobbit arms to hold a succession of three mules attached to one another. He remained silent a few seconds, trying to orient with the sounds around him. Ultimately the Hobbit decided to take mounts to the edge of the woods in front of him, where he could keep them hidden while observing the area more effectively. Along the way Gerry found torn skin clothes, and guessed that these were rags left by Bera. He picked them up and put them away, among the packets of the first mule, before continuing his way.
At the edge of the woods, our Hobbit securely fastened the mules. He did well, for a few seconds later, a lupine howl startled them and they tried to escape. The war cries of his comrades followed immediately. Gerry took his sling and walked slowly, wanting to help his friends but reluctant to leave the mounts unprotected and unsupervised. Far to his left, bear roars were covering hated yelps. Suddenly he jumped up, shivering because of the surprise: Arathorn's little thrush had grazed his ear with her wing. The animal fluttered above and in front of him. The Hobbit followed in that direction.
The Hobbit sneaked through the heather, picking up sharp stones along. After turning a block of pink granite, he saw on the next ridge, an archer aiming at a target, down in the ditch. The man dressed in dark green wore a black leather outfit that reminded him of the Thalion bandits. Gerry swinged his sling, aimed and shoot the archer in the eye.
But the arrow flew and hit its target. The archer fell dead as Arathorn uttered a sharp cry of pain. Three other archers revealed at the top of the ridge. Arathorn, writhing in pain, grabbed the large shield that was used to carry Thràin's body, and covered himself. Three arrows planted there, while the nearest archer let his weapon fall and covered his bleeding head with his hands. Arathorn did not attempt to remove the arrow stuck deep into the right side of his back, just below the ribs. Risking a glance over the shield, he saw the two remaining opponents thrown off by the threat of a hidden shooter. Curbing his pain and grabbing his chance, he immediately jumped with the strength he had left. As Gerry shoot at shoulder an archer who tried to aim, Arathorn stroke his comrade before slaying both.
Then came a new wave of attackers - black rangers preceded by a dark cloud. Despite a valiant resistance, the Dúnadan, severely weakened, succumbed to numbers. Wrapped in the disgusting and cruel steam Gerry did his best to shoot the enemies of his lord down, but he was soon reduced to concentrate his forces on his own breath not to collapse.
Finally he came to his senses, the ear pulled by a small thrush. The black rangers were gone. Gerry cautiously approached Arathorn who was lying on the ground. Multiple wounds gaped, out of which his life flowed. Around him laid the bodies of a dozen attackers. The Dúnadan's quiver was empty in the middle of its scattered contents. The branch, pledge of the lady, laid among the broken arrows and shattered bow. A white bud pointed at the end, pathetic witness of life on the withered branch. Gerry, wiped in tears, mopped Arathorn's face and emptied the Dúnadan's reserve of medicinal leaves on his wounds, clumsily trying to bandage them.
Arathorn opened his eyes, smiled and said in a quiet voice:
-« You will have to undergo the teaching of my lady. My faithful squire should be able to heal his comrades... »
Gerry burst in tears. Arathorn interrupted :
-« I am beyond any possibility of healing, Master Took. Be brave and take as a pledge, the last wishes of your King... »
As Gerry, broken down, could give no answer, Arathorn swallowed hard and continued:
-« In the end my choice was vain or too late. They took Thràin with his ring ... »
Gerry startled. That was the ultimate confirmation these foreigners were seeking for. Without this dwarven power ring, himself would certainly have been discovered and taken away by the terrible werewolves. And that was still possible...
-« ... But they failed to take me this... »
The Dúnadan showed the Dwarves necklace, hidden under his coat.
-«Now, my young friend, hide this jewelry, put it in a safe place. You will give it back to the dwarves, along with the apology of a friend. But remember their alliance... the two kings must not disappear in vain. That is the essential... But Gandalf will help you... »
Gerry complied. As he removed the sumptuous necklace from the ranger's collar, poise and diction of the latter flew away, as if a veil of eternal grief fell upon the dying.
-«One must want to live and know how to die.2 But how hard it is to give up the delights of a return of hope and glory to a loving home. I wish you know that joy, Master Hobbit. »
Then he turned to the little thrush who had jumped on his bruised chest:
-« You will help Gerry, and lead him to Imladris. There you must report our tale to the Queen ... »
After a long silence the Dúnadan uttered these last words:
-« Bring to my lady, along with the testimony of my life's only love, the confidence that I leave this world with a mind at peace, having worked for the good of my people and repairing my faults. Tell Gandalf that I forgive him of diverting my expedition. He was right and should have been our captain in this adventure. May my fall teach this to my heirs... »
The raspy breath stopped.
X-X-X
The company eventually gathered in the ravine, while the twilight bathed the skies with glows of blood. They had been attacked by scattered groups of black marauders. Gandalf made a great tour to ascertain the fate of each. He brought back Ingold and Fràr, he snatched from the last enemies. The survivors gruesomely accounted of losses in this horrible battle. Gràr, Fràr's brother, had perished at the hands of a dark ranger's scimitar. The unfortunate Forin and Krorin, already injured at Barum-Nahal, had died poisoned by a horrible dark cloud. Gandalf suspected black magic, which he pondered where from it came from. Arathorn and Màr appeared to have died protecting Thràin's body, which was not found. The Dúnedain Hirgon and Gilhael were found bristling with poisoned arrows.
Gandalf ventured to make a fire around which the survivors regrouped. Gandalf, Bera, Fràr, Norin, Dwalor and Ingold, avidly listened to the Hobbit, reporting the last moments of Arathorn. At the end of the tale, some flame returned to the Dwarves heart. Norin rose:
« The King of Barum-Nahal was abducted! Our leader Màr, who acted as his steward, warned us against Arathorn and his greed. He is dead now but we still have not found the treasures that Thràin wore when he got killed by the dragon. If Thràin had disposed of these heirlooms to rally us, a band of brigands could never have overcome our forces. He was horribly betrayed! »
Gandalf sadly listened to the Dwarf listing accusations that the wizard himself had wondered about. Norin was no doubt deluded about the virtues of Thrór's ring and the Dwarves necklace - but that was obvious that a company, united around their rightful guardian, would have withstood the onslaught. Thus he blamed the robber with the responsibility of their final defeat. The thief could only be Arathorn, in the Dwarfs mind.
-« In all likelihood, Thràin is still alive, said Gandalf. Our attackers would not bother to seize and carry him and in his state, to murder him later. I guess they were looking for the King and the heirlooms of his house and took everything... »
Given the repeated attacks of the Dwarves, poor Gerry temporized, and reminded everyone that he had seen Arathorn defending Thráin and die for him.
- « Your lord was still alive when black rangers seized him, he said. He must be rescued! »
But suspicion towards Arathorn were too entrenched in the Dwarves minds. Fràr recalled the many occasions for the two leaders to oppose and their personal animosity had erupted into the open. Norin pretended to search the body of Arathorn, but Ingold intervened with arms in hand.
Gandalf separated them, sick at heart. The tremendous success of destroying the two Misty Mountains dragons, along with the unexpected offsprings of a dragon egg, faded before so many victims and the disaster of failing the alliance between the Dúnedain and Dùrin's folk. The wizard felt partly responsible, although he suspected some secret the Hobbit protected. Gerry looked to him for help before the Dwarves, but his attitude reinforced Gandalf's suspicion who went inquisitor. Thus our Hobbit refrained from confessing Arathorn's fault and momentarily kept the Dwarven necklace. He esteemed he could not save the alliance of the Dwarves and the Dunedain. But he was reluctant to increase the guilt of his lord, in the eyes of both his critics and his followers.
Yet Gerry had fueled the wizard's curiosity, who now remembered the guilty look Arathorn had thrown earlier in the day. When a wizard suspects the existence of a secret by convergent clues and he already knows some premise, it is rare he does not reach his goals. But when he feels something of paramount importance, the wizard falls down on his prey with all the resources of intelligence, cunning, persuasion and, if he really has to, bullying. Gandalf drew the Hobbit aside and questioned him once more:
- « My dear Hobbit! You bear too heavy a burden for you! Don't you want to open up to me about that? »
- And why should I speak of my secrets or my vows? You have no intention to help me. Or at least this is by no means your first goal. You are pursuing your own business, whatever the cost to your surroundings! Under the guise of relieving me, you try to take advantage of my weakness and your authority to have me confess things I promised to keep secret. But in this case you may not consider the consequences! For once you will have to trust me! »
Gandalf was surprised by this vehement tirade, yet he did not remain speechless long. Our Hobbit, usually so accommodating, had a violent reaction from which the wizard was able to infer a lot, but not everything the Hobbit hoped to hide. Gandalf was aware Arathorn was the author of a felony that tainted the Thràin prestige; he had also understood that the Hobbit knew what was going on but would not betray his lord. Furthermore the wizard sensed that this felony was related to the presence of their attackers. He immediately decided to change his approach:
-« You matured, my dear Gerry! And you are right: I often forget that I am not alone facing difficulties. I shall share my dilemma. So you may judge for yourself what you can tell to help me. Do you agree with that? »
Treated as an adult for the first time, the Hobbit could not refuse and nodded. So the wizard continued:
-« I do not understand what our attackers are looking for, why they pursue us for long miles with troubling eagerness. At first I thought they were trying to reach me. Then I thought it was you. Finally I realize that after joining us, they abducted Thràin, Dùrin's heir, mobilizing and sacrificing a large force. Maybe if I knew why they have taken him, I could imagine a ploy to save Thràin. What can you tell me? »
Gerry saw no way to inform Gandalf without denouncing his lord. Therefore our Hobbit weighed, in the balance of his young mind, the consequences of breaching his word, against the odds of helping the great Dwarf.
-« First I would like you to promise me not to tell anyone what I am to tell you!
- I promise! » Gravely replied the wizard.
Then Gerry confessed that Arathorn had robbed Thráin after the fight against the dragon, and what happened when he tried to return them. These revelations opened perspectives to the wizard, who realized for the first time that Thráin openly wore one of the old rings of power, one of those who were once given to the Dwarf lords. He remained silent long, his shining eyes betraying the alert wheels of his intense reflection, then he added:
-« Gerry, thank you for your trust. Indeed you have greatly helped me since now I know exactly why Thràin was aimed in person. And this will guide my steps to bail him out, if we may still... »
So a ring of power had reappeared in the north, and a malignant power had discovered this. But the revelations of Gerry did not explain why blacks Rangers were interested in Gerry and himself from Thalion. The wizard would solve this mystery later. For now he had ample material to reflect and decide:
-« So Arathorn was saved in the end. That lifts quite a weight off my heart! Fortunately he did not have time to return the Dwarf necklace to Thráin... So you are the guardian of a very heavy burden, as I had guessed. But you cannot return it without triggering an irremediable enmity between the Dúnedain of Arnor and the Dwarves of Dùrin. Perhaps we may later. But for now I have to direct my steps to great dangers. So I would like you to keep this jewel for me, and give it to Master Elrond. »
Gerry was so relieved that Thràin's ring had avoided talking about his, he had not even though to entrust the wizard with the necklace. Yet he felt a dull guilt to keep it, and opened his heart to Gandalf. The old man smiled sadly and said to the Hobbit when they joined their comrades :
- « Tell yourself that you are not responsible for what happens! When the litany of your gnawing thoughts stops, you will realize that no one can relieve you of this chilling judgment you imposed with a little complacency.
- But is it enough to declare one self not guilty?
- You will make no prodigy, and no one expects you to. Your loved ones, those who matter and rely on you, will see you decide and do what you can with the resources you have. Then you will be responsible. Do you realize that this is ultimately the reason why you were pushed in this journey?
- But what can I do when necessary seems insufficient?
- May you find the serenity to accept the things you can not change, the courage to change what is within your reach, and the wisdom to know the difference!3
- How can I determine what should be done?
- Everybody has his own method! The wise look far away, the fools even further. But I suggest you rely on your heart. For the reasons we have discussed, tomorrow I will entrust you to Ingold. Sleep peacefully now...»
Gerry fell into a restless sleep and the others wrapped themselves for the night. Gandalf meanwhile watched until dawn, surrounded by puffs of smoke and his mind alert.
The next day at first light, the Dwarves dug a grave for their companions. They announced summarily and with an air of defiance, they went in pursuit of the captors of their leader. Gandalf sighed and spoke:
-« Many evils have striken us in recent days. There is still a slim hope of saving Thràin, so I shall go with you. I urge Gerry and Ingold to return to Rivendell and inform Elrond of the outcome of our expedition. But you, dear Bera, what will be your choice? »
Bera was plunged into a complete apathy since the departure of Arathorn. Sunrise brought her some peace of mind - she made a solemn vow to provide a burial fit for a King. Thus, after helping Ingold burying his two Dúnedain companions, she objected strongly Arathorn to be laid alongside with them. She long kept her resentment against the Dwarves, because Gerry hid from her, out of pure kindness, the deeds her love was guilty of. So many years later, the Bearnings retained an instinctive mistrust and dull prevention against Dwarves.
X-X-X
So the company split by a gray and dreary day, devoid of the joy of success and bereaved with many members. Gandalf led the dwarves to the east.
-« Farewell, Master Hobbit, he told Gerry upon departure. Do not let your heart become cold and desperate. Think of your captain when you are quiet, with a good pipe.
Taking the eastern route the Dúnedain had discovered, Gandalf led the Dwarves, hoping to intercept Thràin kidnappers. This journey would take him to the gates of Dol Guldur, but that is another story.
Bera loaded Arathorn's body on a mule, Gerry and supplies on another, and followed Ingold westward. A light rain hid their tears as they stealthily flew away among the heath where they once hunted with so much hope. The Dúnadan progressed with his long, slow stride, guiding Gerry's mount who constantly inspected around. Bera followed them without opening her lips, focused on her vow. The storm caught them in the late evening, and they were soaked to establish a tent in the relative shelter of a coomb. Bera did not sleep a wink all night, pursued in mind by ghostly enemies who slew Arathorn again and again.
At dawn the companions departed under the same light rain. Dùring the dreary day, drizzle finally stopped and the temperature dropped to the point that the companions had to light a fire to warm people and animals. Peering around, Bera said:
-« I do not like it. Rain kept us immune from any pursuit. We have just signaled for miles around.
- We must first survive. We can not avoid it. » Said Ingold showing the Hobbit, shivering in wet blankets.
The next departure took them to increasingly steep and snowy slopes, along a mountain ridge running from the north. The wind increased slowly and the temperature continued to decrease, while they stepped eastward under heavy clouds anthracite. Bera now scrutinized constantly back. She confided her concern to the ranger who reassured her:
-« We are in clear visible effect on these slopes. However we also can spot our enemies from afar. »
The small group persevered in the cold and icy wind blows, climbing the mountainside, mostly to the south. The trail was often covered with ice and snow slides. But the ranger's lore and the Bearning instinct kept them on the right track. Temperature dropped again and the snow began to fall. Even the mules were to be protected, so Ingold draped them with oilcloth. Darkness had enveloped them for two long hours when they finally reached a roughly flat area. Bera dug a wide trench on the slope, pushing the snow to build protective walls. His mind numbed by the cold, Gerry imagined a bear in the far North excavating his den to protect her cubs. Ingold roofed the shelter with oilcloth bound by leather straps, and several masts. Finally the three companions and the two horses took shelter in this makeshift tent. Just about time! An extreme wind rose, that smoothed the flat space they had stopped on, and heaped snow on the slopes around them all night.
In the morning, Ingold freed an output out of the tent. Bright sunshine flooded the mountain range around them. The companions came out to stretch their legs, move and enjoy the light. They had the feeling of standing near the top of the world. They had come to a pass over one of the edges of the Misty Mountains. Immediately North and South the sharp ridge continued by climbing from the narrow platform they occupied. Daytime rays revealed a significant layer of snow had covered the slopes, even if snow appeared already to be melting far down the eastern side. They observed northeast the large cone of Barum-Nahal, forever surrounded by vapors. To the East pinnacles succeeded to each other, their alignment preventing them to contemplate the valley of the Anduin, now too far away. By contrast, the Western panorama was luckily particularly clear. Ingold described their landscape, his melancholy tone accented with some notes of hope at the sight of his homeland.
-« In the northwest you see unfold the great chain that was once the southern border of the enemy kingdom of Angmar. Its slopes are infested with Orcs and my people continuously monitors them. To the southwest continues the great chain of the Misty Mountains, down to the valleys of former Rhudaur. It is now haunted by trolls that my people and the fair folk of the hidden valley hunt without respite. »
The Dúnadan paused, breathing deeply the fresh and perfumes air, a breeze bore him from the West:
-« I think the valleys that lie ahead, drowned with mist, could be the source of the river Hoarwell, that leads to our homes. We finally found the way my Lord Arathorn actively sought. I guess that now, this discovery is not worth much...
- On the contrary!, cried Bera, her face moved and a her heart heavy. I vow to lay my beloved to rest in this ground, sentinel of the free people at the summit of wilderness. Thus he will guard "until the return of the King" the road that his heart had so ardently desired for his people! »
The Dúnadan, torn between respect for the grieving young Woman and his duty toward his lord, convinced himself this was the best way to pay their last respects to the leader of the rangers of Arnor. Gerry suddenly spotted high in the sky, a majestic pair of wings that hung in the clear air. Bera thought this was a good omen. Ingold wondered if the first of the Valar gave his assent through his messenger4. Then the Great Eagle suddenly veered toward the Northeast and flew away.
After a short lunch, the companions dismantled the tent and dug the snow down to the bedrock. The following required a tremendous effort, but Dwarf scissors and perseverance of two grieving warriors eventually overcame the toil: a tomb was arranged between two rocks.
Ingold and Gerry made a short toilet to the death and disposed him the best they could, the feet turned toward Arnor as to ensure him a safe return. The companions gathered a moment around him, evoking moments of greatness or joy they had experienced together, chanting according to their inspiration. Bera put down on his chest, small figurines of straw, hastily crafted, representing the family of the deceased, as well as the image of a bear, she placed next to him, away from the family. Gerry placed small daffodils he had gathered in the valley of the Anduin and that had dried, forgotten in his pocket. Finally the Bearning got up and cut a large lock of her long hair, she threw into the grave. Then the companions piled rocks on their leader. They had reserved a shield with a pronounced bump, covered with a layer of silver that sparkled under the sun. Bera and Ingold fixed it at the top of the mound of piled rocks. Thus Arathorn's pass could shine on sunny days, guiding travelers to a successfull destination.
As Gerry, exhausted, was feeding the mules that had found nothing under the thick ice, he embraced the sight around them. When he saw a dark spot on the eastern slope of the ridge, far to the North, his heart jumped. When he was convinced that the point was moving at high speed in his direction, he was seized with a horrible feeling. He warned his comrades who, after a moment of disbelief, agreed with him and took counsel quickly. Mules were entrusted to Gerry. The Hobbit approached the western slope and looked into the abyss. Cant was growing rapidly, leading to a sunken dizzying precipice. The track left, to the south, on his left, then bent a few times on a steep slope before joining a safer zone with the first few acres of grassy vegetation below.
Anger took Bera. Her unlaced leather clothes laid on Arathorn's tomb. The great Bear turned tirelessly around the grave, her eyes bloodshot and her mouth foaming. Ingold had stepped back, uncertain for now about the mood of their dangerous companion. He armed his bow and placed himself in order to monitor the approach of the North-Eastern Trail. Indeed, a deformed being, with long limbs as a lanky man but powerful paws like a beast, paced the slope, hesitating between standing and crawling.
-«There he is! » Ingold said, shooting his arrow, which ricocheted off the thickly coat, barely causing a gash.
The monster growled viciously and leaped to the assault. Ingold released another arrow - these were Arathorn's shots with a mithril head - which pierced the monster's shoulder. Ingold had hoped to draw his sword after releasing his bow, but the werewolf did not give him time. The ranger had only time to jump aside to avoid the attack - the eastern slope. This reflex disabled a moment the wolf that Bera attacked by surprise - she grabbed the monster by the spine, lifted and hurled it violently, twisting the monstrous body, which crashed a few feet down, barking like a puppy dog . Ingold, sword in hand, attacked the monster in the slope. He imposed a nose injury but was swept away by a violent forelimb stroke. The ranger dropped his sword that ran down the icy slope, and he was so struckhe had to struggling to avoid falling.
Bera burst on the wolf - an indistinct furious mass of fangs and claws tumbled to a terrace of rock on the side of the mountain, leaving a bloody trail in the snow. Grunts continued when Ingold regained consciousness. He came down to the two beasts as quickly as he could. While in mid-term, the grunts ceased and the monster raised its ugly snout to issue an ominous roar of victory.
Bera had been defeated. Ingold was left with a short dagger. From one second to another the werewolf was going to rush on him. But the face of Elrond, kindled with a red flame, imposed itself in the Dúnadan's mind. Frantically, he looked in his bag. He found an egg, of small size, with moire liquid reflections of red and fire. The monster turned his glassy eyes to him. Ingold repeated the words of the master of Imladris:
- « A Elbereth Elentari », he cried, throwing his egg at the monster.
The projectile got aflamed before hitting its target. Bumping on the fur, the egg burst into inflamed and viscous liquids which set fire to the wolf in an instant. But a kind of nucleus, now black, remained from the egg and stuck to the skin of the monster, then burned his bowels by penetrating the flesh. The wolf toppled down the slope, screaming and struggling to get rid of this scourge. Moments later, an explosion shook the mountainside - the werewolf was torn to bloody pieces. An avalanche swept the combatants and covered the mountain with a thick veil of forgetfulness.
After these feats of arms, it was long told that the Pass of the Eagle was guarded by enemies of darkness, light spectra throwing huge bears in pursuit of the goblins and evil things.
1 Let the dragon be the victim of the fire !
2 Napoléon Bonaparte
3 Serenity prayer. Unknown Origin. Maybe St-Thomas of Aquin.
4 Thoron, the eagle in Sindarin, may be the distinctive root in the name Arathorn, « Great Eagle ». Thus the appearance of an eagle, the messenger of Vala Manwë, lord of the sky and winds, is an important sign and particularly meaningful for a schooled Dùnadan.