Lathron burst back out into the light and gasped wildly at the fresh air. Elrohir sat at the rim of the hollow, his swords and clothes stained red, bandaging his leg. Fresh Dourhand corpses were littered about. "Well, what did you discover?" He asked, while Lathron leant with his hands on his knees. When no answer was forthcoming, concern awoke in his eyes. "Have you been running? What's the matter?"
For the first time in years, Lathron lowered his scarf in front of another. Talagan had been right - his scars had not healed. The right hand side of his face was rippled and blotchy red. He drank in the air, shaking all over. "They... It..."
"What is it?" Elrohir hobbled over. "What did you see?"
"Wights," Lathron gasped, fear and exhaustion stealing his words, "and worse. Much worse. They... His eyes... He said..."
Elrohir's eyes widened. "Wights! What evil dwells here that can summon those abominations? What else did you see? Take your time," he added, as Lathron panted.
Finally, Lathron was able to talk. "There were spirits in the tunnels."
"Spirits? What do you mean?"
"Glowing green spirits. Human, I think, but evil, corrupted." He told of everything that had transpired - the crawlers, the Wights, the spirits, the confrontation in the altar chamber, the headlong dash back through the dark, driving back Wights that appeared out of nowhere, stepping with wet crunches on crawlers he had not seen.
When he had finished. Elrohir was aghast. "Repeat the spirit's final words for me," he breathed.
"'Beware, Elfling; it is not over. Tonight the little Dwarf-king shall walk again, but we are the ones who shall return to life!'"
Elrohir sat down again heavily and passed a hand over his haggard face. "It is worse than I could have imagined," he sighed. "Gormr and his men mean to resurrect their King, and that is terrible enough, but I sense there is more. You said the spirit mentioned a master?"
"Yes, it said that its master had been providing for it and its brethren, making them stronger through the corruption."
"Then it is as my father feared - from the beginning, he warned Elladan and I that all was not as it seemed. He sensed a darker power behind these events, as he did at the fall of Edhelion. We must warn the others at once, and administer the cure to the suffering Dwarves. After that..." he tailed off.
Lathron would not be kept in the dark. "After that, what? What are you planning to do?"
Elrohir grimaced. "We must put a stop to this sordid affair once and for all. Tonight, we enter Skorgrím's Tomb.
Dwalin was sitting despondently by his campfire, but his face lit up when he saw the two Elves returning. "Lord Elladan!" he exclaimed. "By Durin's beard, it's good to see you, and who is this with you?"
Elrohir gave Lathron a stern look. "Lord Elladan?"
Lathron grinned sheepishly beneath the scarf. "I felt I might get a few more answers out of Gormr if he thought I was someone of importance."
Elrohir smiled. "Very well, but see that my brother does not hear of it. I have a feeling he would not approve." He turned to Dwalin and bowed. "Greetings, Lord Dwalin. Elrohir, son of Elrond, at your service."
"I am glad you have come," the Dwarf rushed. "Quickly, there is little time left. Even Tryggwi has fallen ill. Do you have anything that will help us make the cure?"
"Better, I have the cure itself." Lathron pulled the moss out of his belt. "Elrohir, this is your area of expertise."
The other Elf took the moss in his hands and crushed it. A sweet smell pervaded the air, and Dwalin sighed contentedly. "Ahh, if there is anything that could cure my fellows, it is that."
Elrohir moved over to Dwalin's fire, where there was an empty cooking skin hanging on a spit. He scooped handfuls of snow from around the base of the statue and dropped them into the skin along with the crushed moss. While they were waiting for the concoction to boil, Lathron filled Dwalin in on what he had discovered in Rockbelly Pit. By the time he was finished, the Dwarf's face was white with fear and anger. "You are right, Lord Elrohir," he growled. "We must put an end to this plot as soon as possible. I for one would be glad to accompany you to the ritual tonight. The Dourhands have spoilt the land of my people long enough.
When steam started coiling from the cooking skin, Elrohir removed it from the fire and took a wooden spoon from his belt. He bent down next to the nearest Dwarf, who was sleeping fitfully, and spooned the medicine into his mouth.
Almost immediately, the Dwarf sat up and coughed. Dwalin cheered. "By Durin's beard, you've done it! Quickly, give some to the others!"
Elrohir passed quickly between the sick Dwarves, spooning the medicine into their mouths. Soon, all were sitting blearily, blinking at their surroundings. Dwalin was overjoyed. "By all the Forefathers, I am in your debt, both of you!" he chortled to Elrohir and Lathron. "Now, what is to be done?"
"You and your people must come with us to our camp," replied Elrohir. We must talk and decide what exactly is to be done tonight."
"Right you are, and now I am deeply indebted to you." Dwalin bowed. "Let us gather our things, and we can be on our way, but for goodness' sake let's not let that accursed Gormr see us!"
The rest of the day was spent discussing and planning. The Dwarves in Dwalin's party were glad to have a proper place to stay, and the Elves were, on the whole, happy to receive them. Most were taken straight to the healers to recover from their ordeal - something the healers were none too pleased about.
After hours of playing the generous host - a position which did not come naturally to him - and discussing tactics and battle plans, Lathron was exhausted. His alarming encounters earlier in the day did not help, and he found himself nodding off even while walking around the campsite. Before he retired, he went to see Dorongúr. The Elf was sleeping peacefully, and Lathron didn't want to disturb him. "You were right, Dorongúr," he whispered, "they are planning to resurrect Skorgrím, and I followed the trail of blood just like you said. I know you would want to help us tonight, but you must stay here. We will stop Gormr's evil plan for you, trust me."
He left, barely able to keep his eyes open any longer. No sooner had he crawled into his tent and removed his belt and quiver than he was asleep.
"Lathron."
He moaned sleepily. "Go'way."
"Lathron!"
Slowly, light filled his vision, though he never opened his eyes. He found himself in a forest glade. All around him, huge trees with trunks of silver and leaves of gold towered into the sky, and their branches were adorned with shimmering silver lights. The sky was dark, but full of stars. A stream poured down into a hollow in the bank, and in the centre of the glade stood a simple marble plinth, holding a stone basin filled with water that was as smooth as a mirror.
As Lathron watched, the light seemed to coalesce beneath the trees, and from out of it stepped a woman. Or was it simply that she gave off a light of her own? Whatever it was, she was extremely beautiful, with milk white skin, golden hair, startling blue eyes and robes of the palest silks. "Lathron," she said, and he realised that it was she who had called him. He tried to respond, but found that he could not.
It came to Lathron then that he must be dreaming, for he could neither speak nor move. Indeed, he could not feel the presence of his own body at all. As far as he could tell, he was simply floating, an invisible observer.
"Elen síla lúmenn omentielmo. I do not have long," the woman whispered, "for even now your first task approaches. I know you, Lathron, for I have seen you from afar, but I do not think that you yet know me. I am Galadriel, the Lady of Lothlorien the Golden Wood. I felt it urgent that I contacted you as soon as possible."
Lathron was bewildered. He had heard the name of Galadriel of course, spoken briefly, and with awe, but had never thought to meet her himself. 'What does she want from me?' he wondered.
"I wish to show you visions," Galadriel continued as if she had heard his thoughts. "I have taken to gazing in my mirror frequently these past few nights, and many images have presented themselves to me unbidden. They trouble me greatly. Here..." Suddenly Lathron found his vision rushing towards the basin. He entered the water and passed through it, and he was falling, down and down and down into stars, and past the stars and into blackness...
...And then he was looking upon a great fortress of many towers and battlements, built of dark stone and red iron, under a stormy sky. It was perched among high, sheer mountains, and steams and vapours rose about it.
"I have seen lighted windows in the fortress of Carn Dûm." Galadriel's voice came to him from nowhere, and he was soaring towards the castle as if on the wings of an eagle. "Dark things stir in that place, which has been abandoned for years uncounted. I sense a lurking malice, growing in strength." Lathron stopped abruptly before a high balcony in the fortress. Upon it stood a figure in red robes and iron armour, wearing a spiked crown. Its face was cowled. The figure looked up suddenly, and its face under the hood was a void of darkness. It sucked him in...
...And he was underground. Overhead, a high ceiling of stone. Below, an abyss, bottomless and terrifying. A narrow bridge of stone, wide enough for one person only, spanned the chasm. Nine figures ran away from him across it, and he recognised one - Mithrandir the Grey Pilgrim. Behind him, he sensed that fires raged, and the light they cast was harsh and ghastly.
"I have seen many things, too, that have not yet come to pass," Galadriel explained. "These I do not understand, and know not whether they are certain, or merely possibilities. All trouble me greatly."
Ahead, Mithrandir had turned to face back across the bridge, baring his staff and sword. His face was weary and filthy, and he stared in fear at something behind Lathron. Lathron felt the thing drew closer behind him, and the flames dimmed. He was turned around, and caught a glimpse of a hulking form, both shadow and flame...
And he was in a great wooden hall of Men. It was lined by many pillars, golden in colour, and rich tapestries hung on the walls. At the far end on a dais, a great throne carven into the shapes of horses stood, and upon it sat an old king, frail and bent. A small man with an ill-favoured look whispered into the king's ear, while from the sidelines two golden-haired siblings, a man and a woman, watched with pained expressions.
All of a sudden, the visions ceased, and Lathron was back in the glade. Galadriel stood before him once again, her face troubled.
"So you have now seen some of what troubles me, young Elf," she said. "There is more which the mirror did not show you, but there is no time left for that. I can appear in your dreams for only a short while, and even that is taxing nowadays, and you are soon to be woken. The hour of your first task is upon you. Know this, Lathron - not all that seems ill at first is so, and good can come out of the darkest of moments. None can tell for certain what the future holds, not even me."
She smiled. "But I sense you are still confused. You wish to know why I showed you these visions. Well, when I looked into my mirror, I saw you there Lathron. Not once, not twice, but many times. Your fate is tied to that of Middle Earth, along with but a handful of others'. It will be your task to face the trials that are coming, and we will stand or fall with you. Namarië, Lathron. Tel' Valar ier yassen lye."
Lathron awoke with a start, to find Elladan bending over him. "Get up," he commanded. "It is time. We go to Skorgrím's Tomb."
And now for the opposite end of the scale - pretty Elven maidens with flowing hair and husky voices... I digress again.
So, Lath's got a destiny. Kinda obvious, really, otherwise I wouldn't be writing about him. Let's hope it's an interesting one, filled with plot twists and action and pretty Elven maidens with flowing hair and husky voices...
Yeah. Destiny.
Anyway, two things aside from mindless rambling (I like mindless rambling. It's fun, and probably much more for my benefit than yours, but there we go.)
One: I posted two new one-off works. One's a retelling of the forging of the Ring (creative license and fabulous dark lords guaranteed). The other's two extra verses for the Rains of Castamere. You know, that depressing song from that depressing book and TV series that practically no-one knows about? He. He. It's been quite successful, if I may say so myself. Check it out. The North Remembers!
Two: The good news, I got a review! The bad news, I'm related to the person who sent it. Hi AnironEndor! I'm-a gonna embarrass you too! You could'a just told me, like, face to face! Or even texted me, if that's too radical.
So yeah, there's a reason the review was so sassy. You can talk to me like that if you want to though, I really don't mind. Oh and don't worry Aniron, I'm not mad really, although watch this space in case I post a sassy review for you too...
Lathrond Aleniel, Elf Hunter, Firefoot Server.
Disclaimer: almost all of the names of people, places and general things are owned by Tolkien Enterprises, New Line Cinema or Warner Brothers, and are fictitious, or if real are used fictitiously and solely for the purposes of entertainment within boring disclaimers. The others are owned by me. Any similarity to any real life person, alive or dead, is probably almost but not quite certain to be entirely uncoincidental.