The Hobbits by Gilthalion

[Mithadan]

Chapter XXV

WHAT GOES UP...

As twilight fell upon the valley, and the last light of the sun cast itself upon the uppermost peak of Mount Gundabad, sharp-eyed elves in the besieging host of Eriador watched hordes of small goblins and larger orcs creep out of the tunnels that riddled the mountain. They were soon arrayed in ragged groups that sullenly stared across the darkening vale, waiting for some signal to hurl themselves against their enemies encamped against them.

Slowly, from out of the main gate, carved in ancient days by the dwarven skill of the Longbeards, there came a gigantic form, pulled by many orcs. What it was could not be seen for it was covered with skins of fell beasts. Slowly it was brought forth and the cover was torn away. The host of Eriador saw a great engine of war, wrought by clever goblin hands, as another of the great engines was pulled from the gate, followed by another still. The wizard Alatar was not seen.

Now goblins, for all their wickedness and depravity, are not stupid folk, and they delighted in clever instruments of torture and of war. They were not unprepared for the siege, for they well knew of the approach of the tall king and his bright-eyed elvish friends. In the days of the long march of that host, the orcs of Gundabad built these great engines of destruction and were ready to use them as soon as night fell. No doubt Alatar the Black had insisted that they be built in darkness and covered so that Aragorn could not view their construction with his Palantir.

While this was a great cleverness on the part of the wizard, the king was wise in the ways of war and had anticipated that such devices might be arrayed against his forces. As soon as it had become clear what the goblins intended, the front lines of the cavalry mounted and prepared to move. Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond, commanded the Rangers and Elves of Rivendell and their elvish spotters were stationed among the riders with flags and trumpets.

The Dunlenders respected their chieftains, not least among them, young Ulfang, son of Storwolos. Many had come to work in the building of the castle at Fornost, and before that, the great tower on Weathertop. The pay seemed handsome enough to these men, born to a half-wild nation where the land did not gladly yield a living. But now they were ready to fight for a new land, lush and green, where their children would have a better life of peace and plenty. But quite a few were still distrustful of the King's men, and especially of the elves. Behind the cavalry, the Dunlenders stood ready, but murmured that horns and bits of cloth on poles were no way to fight. They soon received a lesson in the art of war, as practiced by King Elessar Telcontar and the last host of Imladris.

When the first engine released its fiery burden into the sky, a horrid sound of goblin screeching and shouting filled the valley with a foul and hideous clamour. But the keen-eyed elves marked its flight, and on a trumpet signal, pointed their tall flags at the place where the deadly missile would strike. Now, the Dunlenders more fully understood the wisdom of the elvish tactic. As each burning mass of tar and stone was launched, the spotters pointed at its inevitable destination. Captains and lieutenants could then swiftly order soldiers on foot or on horse to evade each lethal strike with instant speed and precision. After several of these had harmlessly landed in suddenly open places among the host of men and elves, the clamour of the goblins of Gundabad was stilled.

Then, the archers of the foul army stepped out before the siege engines and launched a forest of arrows. Each goblin sent flight after flight into the darkening sky. Their orcish eyes easily followed the flight of the poisoned missiles and saw their effect upon their enemy. As the lethal darts fell, the elvish trumpets sounded a different cry, the cavalry fled from range of bow, and every shield of every soldier was raised to catch the goblin shafts. Some poor few were hit and a handful of brave men died on the spot. The wounded would suffer somewhat from a certain pain for the rest of their lives, but elvish arts preserved many of their lives against the goblin's poison. As that may be, the few casualties and fewer deaths resulting from the barrage caused the wretched curses and terrifying shrieks of a horde of goblins to befoul the mountain air.

The cavalry returned and fired many arrows at the exposed goblins. Again the orcish arrows flew, and again the cavalry retreated and the shields of the soldiers were raised against the deadly rain. Again the cries of the goblins tore through the night. As of yet, the besieging host had launched relatively few missiles, but each of the elven archers found their mark. Aragorn and his captains knew that their strength had to be conserved and that the battle would not be won in a single night.

Someone among the leaders of the orcs, perhaps even Alatar the Black, realized this as well, and the order went out among the unruly goblins to stop wasting arrows. Before midnight, a stalemate settled on the valley and that situation remained the same for many days and nights, with a few more skirmishes provoked by the cavalry, but little other change in the situation.

The War Council of Elessar was convened to discuss the shape of events. Ulfang of Dunland wanted to know what the worst possibilities were.

"We do not know," answered Aragorn. The king looked thoughtfully at the folk sitting upon a ring of stones set for the purpose in the royal pavilion of the great camp. "If we were fighting an ordinary goblin army, then I would say that we might be encamped through the winter. Within Gundabad, where no stores will be added to whatever they have, Summer will pass, and then Autumn and they will be denied whatever harvests they gather or steal. Only the Withered Heath will be open to them, and it will not feed a mountain of orcs. All too soon, they will run out of provisions. Then they will eat first their prisoners, then their slaves, then their imps, then the smaller goblins, and finally the weakest orcs. Then, when the strongest and most ruthless feel the pinch of hunger, they will make an attempt to escape. Then we will kill them in the spring, after enduring a long cold winter, which could slay as many or more of us as they might if they came and fought us on the field. And with a wizard in Gundabad, I do not trust the winter. So we must end this before autumn fails."

Ulfang's countenance grew grim at this. "How?" he asked. "Will we go into the caverns and fight them under the mountains? That is suicide!"

"Nay!" cried Gimli. "My people have fought these goblins in their own lairs, hand-to-hand, face-to-face, cave by cave! Their strength is in their numbers. Individually, in close combat, with nowhere to run, they can be slain. Force them to fight in the tunnels, and the valour and skill of dwarves will beat the goblins every time!"

"Not every time," said Celeborn. "For as you say, their great numbers can weary the strongest hand. And when a strong hand falters, a weaker hand may triumph."

"And besides," said Ulfang, "men are too large to fight in such places, and would be easy prey for the orcs in their dark traps under the ground. My people cannot fight that way."

"Nor will you have to," said Aragorn. "That would play into the our enemy's hands. The army of Thorin Stonehelm is coming, but I could not ask such a sacrifice from the dwarves of Erebor."

"We dwarves have long thought to repay the debt of the Longbeards to the goblins of Gundabad," Gimli growled. "King Thorin would not shirk it."

"We do not need dwarves to fight for our land," said Ulfang.

"Dwarves have reasons enough to fight the orcs," said Gimli. "And if by so doing we also free the lands for prosperous neighbors, then that is all the better."

"We must know more," insisted Aragorn. "Remember, more than goblins lie in wait in the darknesses of Gundabad. There is the wizard, Alatar the Black. It might take an army to defeat such a foe, and even that is not a certainty. There is also something else, something dangerous and powerful at the root of this mountain. We must know what it is."

The tall king stood to his feet. "Something more than goblins was the Bane of Gundabad. Whatever it is, it is still within the mountain, and we must root it out and slay it as well. Ever the goblins have been beaten, routed, and thought nearly destroyed. But ever again they multiply in Gundabad and become stronger in number each time. After the Battle of the Five Armies, they multiplied again until the War of the Ring. And now they are multiplied again to become a great danger, if not this year, then the next, but sooner rather than later. Something has always held them to that mountain and renewed their realm. Even if the wizard had not come, we would have needed to make war. I had hoped to delay this for many more years, but the coming of Alatar has forced my hand.

"And yet," the king continued, slowly standing and looking west, as if in deep thought, "we are also brought here before the goblins were ready for war. Perhaps by chance, as it seems, we will confound their plans and hope to end the menace of Gundabad once and for all, freeing the northern realms for an age to come."

"What gives you this hope," asked Ulfang, "since your hope for a delay has vanished?"

"With an heirloom of my fathers, I have surveyed the mountain in great detail during our long march," Aragorn replied. He motioned to Aradhel and the ranger unfurled a large map, hung from a tall pole as if it were a great standard or a small sail. Aradhel came to the center of the council and turned the map about so that each could look upon it in turn. They beheld a great drawing of the passages, tunnels, chambers, and caverns within Mount Gundabad. Its lines had been darkened with inks of different colours so that the eye could more easily follow the bewildering maze. Notes could be seen written on the borders in the strong firm hand of the king. He explained his plan as they looked upon the map.

"When we are ready, I purpose that an assault be made against every entrance of the mountain. This will bring the forces down and away from the parts of the realm you see marked in red." A passage descended from the peak of the mountain, wound north of the main mass of openings and tunnels, and eventually joined a great chamber with a large corridor that led down to the bottom of the map. There, the sloping corridor ended in a shaded region labeled "Unknown."

"With these passages clear," Aragorn explained, "a party can descend to the shrouded chamber at the mountain's root. We will then learn the secret of Gundabad and perhaps can find a way to forever defeat the evil that has ever grown there."

"How did you come by this thing?" asked Ulfang, in growing wonder.

"I have inherited the means to see what I would from the kings of old," said the tall king. "From across the seas before the world was bent, came this to me, for of great lineage is the line of Elendil, of which my son is heir. I have drawn this by my own hand from what I have seen with my own eyes."

"But why will they not guard this entrance at the top of the mountain?" asked Ulfang. The young Dunlender's bare and massive arms were crossed over his barrel chest. He clearly was unconvinced of the plan, though impressed with the detailed map, and the high air of nobility that he realized was the birthright of Aragorn son of Arathorn.

"It not an entrance but, rather, an ancient guard post that faces to the north," the king replied. "It was hewn by the dwarves who first settled here to watch for ancient dangers an age and more ago. The goblins have no fear of such, and do not use it. The chamber is open to the sky, but there is no path or stair leading to it on the slopes and cliffs of the mountain itself."

"Hah!" laughed Gimli. "Of course not! Any dwarf worth his tools would not make such a mistake."

"And yet, I daresay an elf could make his way," Elrohir said. "But for you others, it may indeed be unreachable."

"Then how do you reach this unreachable entrance that is not an entrance," Ulfang persisted.

"We will have help there," Aragorn smiled. "Is it indeed unreachable? Only if we attempt to scale the mountain. But the chamber is open to the sky, and the eagles of the Misty Mountains have pledged what aid they can give. Their king, Rondramehir the Sky Wing, is healing at Rivendell, and many of his house were slain by Alatar the Black, who hides within Gundabad. Yet a goodly number remain, and a small party might be born aloft on their great wings and brought to the old dwarvish post on the mountain peak."

The eyes of the Dunlender grew wide. This was, to his mind, more understandable but of greater wonder. "We have children's tales of such things! But I think that my people will not ride the wings of eagles or journey under the cold stone. We will fight, but let us fight in ways we know."

"You are wise, Ulfang, son of Storwolos," replied the king. "Reckless valour is often wasted valour and I would not have you spend your lives foolishly. This will prove a dangerous mission that few could undertake with hope of success, and your brave men can indeed help us more in the open field. We will soon decide who will accompany me into Gundabad. Gimli, son of Gloin, has already volunteered and I will gladly accept the help of a dwarf in the passages beneath the stone."

At this statement there was some worried questions and no small consternation from the council, who did not care at all for the idea of the grey-headed king taking on such a dangerous mission. But he would permit no discussion of the matter.

"I will ask no one to do what I would not! And there is this also," said Aragorn. "While much of the horde will be drawn to battle, there may still be many within that could bring this plan to ruin. How will the party evade capture in and out of a goblin fortress? None but myself have the skill to lead a party in and out without detection, and only by the means that this map was surveyed can I hope to do so, and at that, the entire host of Eriador must provide our diversion. We must discover and end this menace now, lest it grow beyond our power ever to do so, and the northern realms of Eriador and Rhovanion never know peace." No further arguments or questions were offered the king, so he had Gimli explain the next part of his plan. The dwarf was only too happy to have the attention of the council.

"There is an old dwarven construction in Gundabad that we can perhaps use to our advantage," said Gimli. "If you will look at the map you can see, marked in blue, something that the wretched goblins may not have considered. The blacksmiths are already working on a device of my own invention that will unleash a force that no goblin or wizard has imagined!"

The assembled counselors listened intently as the renowned dwarf explained his clever plan.

***

The next day, various folk sought an audience with the king in the royal pavilion, hoping to be included in the mission. Cairdur, son of the ranger Cairduin, was chosen, for he was slender of build and only the strongest of the great eagles could carry a full-grown man. Even so, neither Aragorn nor Cairdur could wear armour or mail, lest they too greatly burden the noble birds. Gimli would not go without at least a shirt of mail, but being a dwarf, was light enough to be allowed his way.

Turry and Furry also volunteered. Merry and Pippin came along to support the Twins in this. They were proud that hobbits of the Shire had formed a company of archers, under Pippin's son Faramir, to defend the Queen. They also thought that it was fitting that hobbits, in the tradition of Bilbo Baggins, descend into a dangerous mountain down a forgotten dwarven passage.

"That ought to bring you the luck of the hobbits!" said Pippin. "You'll need that! And you don't have to worry about them being too heavy for an eagle to lift."

"And besides," said Merry, "we will lend them the elven cloaks of Galadriel to help them hide among the stoneworks. You may need a hobbit's stealth on this job."

"But will I need two?" asked Aragorn. "It seems to me that Turry, at least, must remain, for I have heard that he is not recovered completely from his injuries." Unfortunately, this was true, for he had cracked both head and ribs in his fall at the Dunlender's hands.

"Then take me instead!" cried Maddie, surprising everyone. She had followed the other hobbits to the royal pavilion, certain of what she would do as soon as she heard the Twins planning to volunteer. She stepped around the corner of a tent as the startled hobbits reacted.

"What?" old Merry cried.

"NO!" cried Turry and Furry together.

Pippin just shook his old grey head. Merry turned to face his granddaughter and forbade it.

"Your father (not to mention your mother!), would roast me on a spit if I let you do this!" cried Merry.

"And I will never speak to you again if you don't!" said Maddie. She stomped her bare foot and her brown curls shook. "And I mean it!"

"I might have something to say about this," said Aragorn with a dry smile. "Madrigal, this is not simply a journey down a secret tunnel, as my old friend Bilbo made. This may be far more dangerous, for there will be many goblins, and perhaps much hand to hand fighting. And at the end, Bilbo knew what he would find. We do not."

"But when you entered the mines of Moria, you did not know what Durin's Bane was either, and neither did my Grandfather, and nor did Thain Peregrin, nor Master Samwise, nor Frodo of the Nine Fingers himself!" Maddie dauntlessly replied.

"We had no choice that day," the king answered grimly. "And we entered against my will. Now, it comes to my ears that Furry here shoots as well as any archer of Rohan, so answer me honestly: can you do as well as that? Or would you be a distraction to our mission?"

Maddie reached into the pocket of her riding trousers (a singular fashion in the Shire, since few other hobbit girls rode ponies like a boy), and withdrew a sling. She placed a round river stone in its pouch, swiftly whirled it around her head and flung it hard, faster than any but elvish eyes could see, and shattered a nearby rock. The king and the other hobbits looked back at the defiant hobbit lass, who already had another stone in her whirling sling. She hurled it in exactly the same spot, blasting the fragments of the rock, and said, "Does my king not know? I am Madrigal Brandybuck, the Terror of the Shire, and any goblin that gets in my way gets what that rock got!"

The hobbits laughed, but the king did not. As their quick mirth quickly died away, Aragorn said, "A foresight is upon me. I will take the hobbits Fingon and Madrigal, the dwarf Gimli, and the ranger Cairdur. Seven eagles are strong enough of wing, and one of them must carry Gimli's device. That leaves one place to be filled in our number."

"Now do I most miss Legolas," said Gimli. "He was nearly as good as a dwarf at orc-slaying!"

"He is where he needs to be," said Aragorn. He meant something more by this, but others took this to mean that the wood elf wanted to be alone after the slaying of Storwolos. This tragedy had followed on the treason of Alatar, which had doomed Legolas to exile from the realm of his father, Thranduil. Everyone felt sorry for him and longed to see him again.

It was finally Elrohir, one of the sons of Elrond, who was selected for the mission. The slender elf was skilled in all ways of war, and was ever as eager as his brother Elladan to kill goblins when he could for the memory of the terrible crimes their mother, Celebrian, suffered at the foul hands of the orcs, never to recover unless she was granted healing in the Elvenhome over the Sundered Sea. It was agreed that the ranger Aradhel would command Elrohir's regiment of cavalry until the elvish knight returned and that Lord Celeborn would command all in the king's absence.

They had only to wait until the weather was right, and none but the king knew what weather he and the eagles were awaiting. But the wait turned out to be long, and the siege did not go as well as hoped.

A large contingent of orcs, an army in itself, was wisely sent forth before the siege was joined and was deployed to guard a critical pass. They held high ground that prevented the Kings of Rhovanion from joining the siege. King Thorin Stonehelm of the Dwarves, King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, and King Bain of Dale were stalemated. While the orcs did not have force enough in the passes to destroy the allies, neither could the allies assail the pass with sufficient force in the narrows of the mountains without suffering great losses. Less than ten leagues separated the hosts of Rhovanion from the hosts of Eriador and sight of Mount Gundabad. This may have been a blessing, for the allies of the Wilderland did not have Arwen Undomiel with them to overthrow the malevolent spell of wrath that Alatar the Black may have cast upon them, if they were within his sight. Blessing or not, the siege was hard to maintain and the summer was not growing longer.

***

The days drew on into weeks. Little happened on the lines of the siege, for Aragorn would not begin the battle until his mission was ready and the orcs would not begin a battle they would surely lose, at least not until their last despair. Or so it was thought. Summer waned into autumn as the weeks began to grow into months. The allies feared the onset of winter would come to the aid of Gundabad. Holding the siege through the northern cold and snow would be grievous, and if the winter were terrible, then the siege might fail, the goblins survive to replenish their numbers, and all suffering and sacrifice have been in vain.

But finally, a day dawned when low clouds had settled over the Grey Mountains and fog filled the valley. As arranged beforehand, seven great fires were lit in a wide circle in the open plain near the royal pavilion. These had been set ablaze on each of two previous mornings that had dawned misty, but the eagles chose the third morning as the best.

Eight great eagles landed, one after another, within the circle of the signal fires. Furry was packed and waiting, and ran to tell the king, but found that Aragorn was already striding to the eagle's landing through the grey mists, closely followed by Maddie and Gimli, who carried his secret device in a large heavy pack. Elrohir and Cairdur came right behind. Other figures, obscured by the mists, were also following to see the party on its way. The king had known, by his methods, that the weather was right for the mission and so he knew to have the party ready and at hand.

Rondramehir himself had come. The great lord of the eagles knew that he was not yet fit to carry heavy burdens, but took wing from Rivendell as soon as he was able, and was come to lead his seven wingmates. Madrigal came to him and the noble bird had kind words for her, and wished that he could carry her himself, for she had stayed with the elf-girl Geniwel when his injuries at the hands of Alatar overcame him, and thus was his life saved.

Aragorn spoke quietly to Celeborn. Not much needed to be said between them, for preparations had long been ready for the day. The armies and the cavalry were ready to force the denizens of Gundabad to battle, and away from the mountain halls where Aragorn hoped to lead his team. The king had said his good-bye's to Arwen at the pavilion and she remained there with Eldarion. The rest of the folk stood in little groups, saying their good-byes, and hoping that this would not be the last time they laid eyes on one another. Elrohir gravely spoke with his brother as did Cairdur with his father and his young brother, Cairmir. The hobbits, of course, were there as well, but in hobbit fashion, made light of the dangerous mission.

"Now listen, my boy," said Faramir Took, coming with several other hobbits, friends, family, and Took archers, to see the party on its way, "you keep both eyes open and on what you're doing, and not on that Brandybuck girl!"

"Dad!" cried Furry. Pippin just laughed. He had lent his elven cloak to young Furry and had already said as much as he could bring himself to say. "I mean it," said Faramir. "You two've grown mighty close in these last weeks, as everyone knows, and I'll not have you walking into danger with your mind on anything except your mission. Now you go on and keep the King out of trouble and mind what I say!"

"Yes, sir," said Furry, seeing there was no sense arguing the point and that his old dad was probably right. Meanwhile, a similar conversation was underway between Maddie and her grandfather.

"I must say you look better in that cloak of Lorien, than I ever did," said Merry.

"Oh, Grandfather!" said Maddie. "I don't suppose I can keep it?"

"Of course not! I'm only lending, not giving. So I expect you to bring it back! You keep your eyes and ears sharp, and don't go mooning over Fingon while you're on the job," said Merry. "And don't go looking at me like that! You know as well as I do that you're smitten with that young Took, so you keep your mind on business!"

"Don't worry, Grandfather," sighed Maddie. "We'll all be just fine!"

"Well," sniffed old Merry, "go on then, before you make a spectacle of yourself!"

Then Maddie and Furry said goodbye to Ellie and Turry. Turry still felt that he should have been the one to go, for in the delay he had quite healed up and felt ready for anything. But the king was firm in his earlier decision, and seemed to have some notion that Madrigal would be needed, so that was that, and Turry made the best of it. The young hobbit contented himself with helping his father lead the Took archers guarding Queen Arwen (a more dangerous duty than he yet realized). As for Elediriel, she was both delighted and fearful for her friend, and never admitted her relief that Turry would be safe (as she thought) on the ground with her. Turry and Ellie wished their friends well and then held hands, watching as the eagles flapped their great wings and lifted one after another of the party into the grey mist and out of sight.

***

Up and up they flew through the low lying fogs and clouds, in great circles that the hobbits felt rather than saw, for they could see nothing but the gloomy mists. After what seemed a long time, the mist brightened and they were suddenly above the cloud tops. Fields of serene white clouds were aglow with the morning sun and as the eagles wheeled about, Maddie shivered in the fierce cold, but looked in awe at the sights. She saw from on high the peaks of the Misty Mountains, ever taller and receding to the south. Looking to the north, she saw the massive grey stone of Gundabad, under a burden of brilliant white snow that not even the summer sun had melted.

It was toward this that they now flew, and there were no other eyes so high that they could be seen approaching from above the clouds. Now Maddie understood the wisdom of waiting for the right weather. They needed the cover of fog so that the attempt could be made undetected. But the tops of the clouds also had to be low enough so that the eagles could see to land at the ancient dwarven observation post on the mountain's peak, for surely there would be no signal fires to lead them down (and it would be bad news if there were!).

Sooner than you might think, for the great eagles of the Misty Mountains were swifter of wing than any other bird, Gundabad was below them, and the eagles circled in a dizzying spiral down to a tiny open cove on the north side of the mountain's peak.




Chapter XXVI

STRATEGIES AND TACTICS

Turry and Ellie watched until their friends and the eagles that bore them were lost to sight, high aloft in the grey mists. The tweenaged hobbits walked hand in hand back to the royal pavilion, and the hobbit encampment.

"I still say that it should have been me," said Turry. "Maddie might be good with a sling, but she's never been in any real fight."

"That's because she's too smart!" said Ellie, sticking up for her friend.

"She's going to have to be more than smart. She's going to have to be lucky, too!" said Turry. "For that matter, so will Furry and the rest of them."

Suddenly, Ellie remembered what day it was. "Turry, it's Baggins Day, you know, and we forgot all about it," she said.

"Why, so it is," he said. "That's just got to be lucky, at least for hobbits!"

"I think it will be lucky for everyone!" cried Ellie, feeling hopeful about the mission for the first time. But just as quickly, her sudden hope faltered as she thought on the reasons for Bilbo's luck.

"But I'm forgetting," she said sadly, "that Bilbo and Frodo were so lucky, because they needed luck to deal with the Ring. We aren't on a quest like that."

"Are you so sure?" asked Turry. "I'm no wizard or elven lord so I don't have ages of wisdom and study to help me understand things. But it seems to me that there wasn't much use in finding the Ring, and in all the luck given to Bilbo and then to Frodo, if everything that comes after is going to be overwhelmed by other shadows anyway. We've got to deal with what comes our way, just like they did. Why shouldn't we hope for as much luck as we need?"

"I think you're right," said Ellie, brightening. "So that means that Maddie and Turry will be lucky and do all right!"

Turry thought for a bit, and then said, "Well, I'm sure she will. But sometimes you have to give a lot, sometimes everything, for the sake of everyone else. There have been dark times since the world began, and the songs the elves sing at night say that darkness will not be utterly banished until the first shadow, the big one in the void, and all the evil that ever was, is defeated by all the good that ever was, in a great war at the end of time. And there were some mighty good folk who didn't make it in their day. But their part made the difference for all the rest and in the end it all goes our way. That's what the elves believe. Along the way, I guess that 'luck' is just surviving destiny in our own lifetimes. What's important is what we do with our lives, not how long we live them. The elves can live as long as the world itself, but their songs are about the ones who don't."

"Let's not talk about it anymore," said Ellie, shivering. She and Turry had been spending quite a lot of time together, when they could, and this was often late at night, listening to the singing of the elves under the stars. They sang until late many nights of the siege about the mighty deeds of the elves in ancient days, and of evil greater even than the Dark Lord Sauron, evil that ever returned and was ever defeated. Sometimes the singing was terrible to endure for the songs were of deeds of great valour in times of unspeakable terror, and yet were sung in voices fair beyond mortal beauty.

Now, no one can listen to elvish singing by moonlight or starlight, and not be changed by the hearing. The elves of Rivendell, mustered to their last battle, sang the greatest martial songs of the greatest heroes of the Eldar. The Dunedain, who understood many of the words of the songs, were no less affected than the Dunlenders, who understood none of the words, but like the fathers of men harkening to the voice of Finrod Felagund, their minds came to understand the elvish meanings. The young hobbits were no exception, listening to the stories sung and almost seeing, as if in a dream, the great and the horrible deeds of ancient days. Some (by no means many) hobbits in those days had a great regard for all things elvish. Turry and Ellie had come from a generation of hobbits that were given elvish names by parents born to families who had recently great and fateful dealings with the immortal elder race.

But Ellie was becoming homesick for the Shire, and the snug little hobbit hole her father had built. It was a little much for the bookish hobbit lass to ponder high elvish faith in the grey mists of Gundabad, while her best friend was headed straight for the perilous unknown heart of that malignancy. Her blonde hair was becoming wet in the cold fog and she was growing chill. She was ready to get back to her service to the Queen, if only to be distracted from thoughts of Madrigal (and the others!) perishing in torment at the hands of the goblins, far under the mountain, or being consumed by the nameless terror the King sought to find.

The trumpets of the elves of Rivendell sounded forth. The time for the attack had come, and everyone was called to their stations.

Ellie and Turry said their good-byes (and stole a quick kiss!) before running to their duties. While Elediriel Cotton was a help to Queen Arwen and the infant Prince Eldarion in various small ways (which made Ellie quite happy, I must say), Turgon Took was a help to his father in ways great and small. Faramir Took, son of Peregrin, was in command of the Tookish archers. He was to be Thain of the Shire himself one day, when (or if) Old Pippin finally decided to retire. Faramir was a hobbit that commanded respect, at least from other hobbits, and he took his duties seriously. Turry put aside his regret at being passed over for the mission and did his best to measure up to his father's expectations. The son of the Thain had personally trained him with these other hobbits. They were the best in the Shire, hoping now that the signal had been given they would measure up. Master Faramir was mightily proud of their accuracy and speed with the Took-made bows. These, like the bows of the Twins, were made on a pattern much like the elven bows of old Lorien.

Many of the elves in Lord Celeborn's command looked with kindly mirth upon the halfling archers when they arrived with their little almost-elven bows, as if they were elf-children playing at war. But Faramir Took made certain that the hobbits kept up their training throughout the long siege. It came to pass, as their practices were observed, that even the elves who had come to Rivendell from the Golden Wood had to admit that the hobbits of the Shire were good archers, good as any of the younger races could be, they supposed. From the former sentries of Lothlorien, this was higher praise than it sounded!

The hobbits would dearly purchase still higher praises before the next day dawned.

***

As the sun rose above the surrounding mountains and warmed the valley air, the fogs lifted enough to reveal that the forces of Eriador had used the cover of the grey mists to move into position for their assault upon the gates of Gundabad. They were there to force the goblins to battle, and that was precisely what happened.

Really, the goblins had little choice other than to fight, and that meant responding as Aragorn had planned. Every orc and goblin that could hold spear or sword was sent either to the front line or to protect the greater and lesser gates of the mountain. In fact, the plan worked better than Aragorn had hoped, though in a fashion other than the king intended. For as soon as the assault began, the greatest part of the strength of Gundabad was sent, under the command of Alatar the Black, down a narrow tunnel of great distance, excavated by the wizard's design soon after the siege began. Its egress from the goblin mountain began in the shrouded depths of the uttermost cellar. The goblins filed with great speed past the immense terror that abode there and passed, by her leave, into the secret tunnel.

Suddenly, after the last orc passed into the darkness, behind them came her young, who hungrily eyed the goblins, but killed only the few along the way who were so unlucky as to be at the tail end of the single-file host. This was just as well for Alatar's plan, or else the ravenous young creatures might not have long fit through the narrow spaces of the goblin-carved shaft, they grew so swiftly with each bloody meal. Certainly, no goblins thought of turning back, hiding along the way, or otherwise deserting!

The black-clad wizard led the host at the speed he thought best (which was none too speedy for the orcs at the end of the line). The cleverness of the wicked wizard was such that not only were the unruly goblins kept in line, but also the voracious creatures that followed were somewhat sated before the end of the journey, and more easily held under his sway.

Finally, as the grey day faded into night, the terrified goblin host and their relentless pursuers all issued forth unobserved, several leagues west of Gundabad, outflanking all the besieging armies, ready now to march under cover of darkness and bring death to their unsuspecting foes. Then, in time (for Alatar could bide his time), nothing would stop the wizard from eventually conquering both Gondor and Rohan with great terrors from the North and with mighty armies from the East and South. The dominion that even Sauron the Dark Lord, in all his terrible power, failed to achieve, Alatar the Black, in his own clever strategies, hoped to gain.

***

Throughout the day, the battle had gone as well as could be hoped. The Cavalry of Eriador, led by Elladan of Rivendell and the ranger Aradhel, utterly destroyed the force of orcs that served the siege engines of Gundabad. The great machines were of no avail against the swift horses of the rangers and the elves, for the riders would come within bowshot of the goblins and release a deadly rain of darts that slew many with each pass. The cavalry itself was protected from the goblin archers by the elven bows of old Lorien, for the archers of Lord Celeborn could hit their marks from afar, relying on their memory of the goblin positions to aim their shafts through the mists.

When the crews that served the war engines and the goblin archers had met their fate, then more goblins issued in great numbers from the lesser and greater gates of the mountain. But the allies of Eriador were ready. Ulfang had led a force of Dunlenders behind the goblin lines, creeping slowly against the ground in the night fogs to silently slay the watchers on the slopes. Thus was Aradhel able to lead a great regiment of rangers into position to ambush the force of goblins that streamed through the main gate. The Dunlenders were ready to deal with the orcs of the lesser gates.

Still, it is one thing for a host of great knights, elven archers, and stout men to slay orcs upon the field, it is another thing entirely to dislodge them from strongholds of stone. The orc commanders made certain that enough force remained so that the gates of Gundabad could not be taken without great loss.

Listening to the signals from the mountain and the battlefield that lay before it, Celeborn thought that things had gone too easily. This is not to say that there were no casualties, for goblins are cruel fighters and not entirely unskilled in the practice of war. Perhaps the Dunlenders were hurt most, for they were neither as well trained nor as well equipped as the Rangers, and neither of these forces of Men had the skills and arts of the Elves.

Even so, it was clear that Gundabad had not exhausted its strength. Lord Celeborn wondered what might be at hand, and so ordered the recall of his commanders to anticipate the likely counterattack.

***

"Why am I called away from my men?" cried Ulfang, as he strode into the meeting. Obviously, he did not think much of the idea, for he had left many good men waiting at the lesser gates for any surprises from the orcs.

"Today's action has gone well for us," Celeborn replied, as calmly as only an elf-lord of his great wisdom and experience could. The assembled captains nodded and happily agreed. Even Ulfang admitted this. But the great elf continued, "I wonder if it has not gone entirely too well. I anticipated that greater forces would be sent to the battle. They have chosen rather to let their war machines be taken and now hold only the gates of the mountain. This means one of two things. Either they have somehow sent a host of goblins away, to escape or to ambush, or they have simply kept back their host in the mountain itself, and wait for winter."

"Then what are we to do?" said Ulfang. "Search for them in all these mountains? Wait here until we are covered with snow and ice?"

"Perhaps we will do both," said Celeborn. "The elves have not joined this last battle ere we depart these lands in order to see it lost. I have known elves that bore greater cold and greater hardship than any winter in the Grey Mountains. But we will not fight to rid this land of this evil, if those to whom this land is left care not to bear its burden."

"We of Dunland have already borne part of this burden," said Ulfang grimly. "And we expect to bear still more of it and to see still more of us follow Storwolos, my father, in the warrior's way to the sacred rest of our ancestors. But we will not shed our blood in vain. And I do not yet feel that my father's spirit is peaceful. Your king's plan has failed. How will we end this?"

"Perhaps it will be time enough to judge the strategy of King Elessar when all has at last unfolded," said Cairduin. "Peace may yet come to your father's memory."

"The elves do not consult the spirits of dead men when considering our paths," said Celeborn. "Let us gain wisdom through understanding. If the goblins have deserted, then they will regather in time, but are weaker dispersed and unsheltered. Also, there is still the nameless evil that even you must sense at the heart of this mountain. Evil unchecked is evil that grows. Will it ever be easier than today to end the unknown menace? Not even the elves can say, but wisdom is against delay. And finally, there is Alatar to consider, and he plans to rule all lands ere this age is well begun. You folk of Dunland might not have forgotten what an unopposed wizard can do."

"We have not forgotten the Old Man of Isengard, called by you Saruman. He brought our nation to an unjust war and many of our fathers died for his lies and sorceries," said Ulfang. "We are not children. We know that these things must be fought, if we have the strength to fight them. But we must have a plan!"

"Then listen," said Celeborn, "for I did not call you from your men without considering matters. If the goblins have dispersed, which I consider unlikely, then they will become a dwindling folk, ragged bands of brigands that disciplined forces will hunt down in time. If they are somehow preparing an ambush, it may fall this very night, for the mists that covered our preparations may have covered theirs as well. We can turn such an ambush to our advantage if we double our forces."

Ulfang nearly spoke up, but at a look from Cairduin, held his tongue. Celeborn continued his assessment, "I hope, before nightfall, that we might overcome the orcs that prevent the Northern Kingdoms of Rhovanion from joining the siege. We will take the great engines of the goblins and bring them within range of the orc army guarding the pass and so bring about their destruction. Then, with our forces redoubled, we can deal more effectively with any contingency."

There was not much time, so leaving force enough to discourage an attack from the gates of the mountain, men of Eriador and many horses of the cavalry were put to the task of moving the great war engines of the goblins. Near the end of the day, the machines were in place and a hail of stone began falling upon the goblins guarding the pass. Seeing this, the Kings of Rhovanion urged their soldiers to attack. Both ends of the pass were under assault and the great goblin catapults were assailing their own makers from above. Soon, with nowhere to run, the orcs were slain to the last creature and the pass was freed. Before the sun had fallen, the siege was at last joined by the elven army of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, as well as the dwarven forces of Thorin Stonehelm, King under the Mountain Erebor, and finally the fighting men under King Bain of Dale, the greatest settlement of Men in the northern Wilderland.

The allied forces marched double-time to return to the siege as night fell. They all knew well that if there was to be a counterattack, it would likely fall at night. They returned to their positions, tired from fighting and marching, but with strength redoubled, ready for whatever might come. Or at least they hoped that they were ready, and the war songs of the elves filled both the valley and the hearts of the allies as a cold north wind blew away the grey mists and the stars above shone brilliantly. But what actually came was unexpected and no army could have been truly prepared for what happened that night.

***

It was nearly midnight when the onslaught of the orcs began. Horns blew fiercely from the direction of the setting moon and were answered as fiercely from the mountain. And then the orcs came. And they came. And they came.

By the thousands they were vomited forth from the greater gates of the mountain, and by the hundreds from the lesser. Many thousands more came in a great horde from the west. And elvish eyes could see that beyond the great screaming mass of goblin soldiery, still more were coming after.

Then there was such a battle as had not been fought in many long years, and would not be fought again in that age of the world. The bright swords of the Dunedain swept with fell hands against wave after wave of the goblin horde; the sharp spears of the Dunlanders cut through orcs so that great piles of the slain lay all about them; the axes and hammers of the Dwarves slew the orcs with nearly every stroke, so thickly they came; and the shafts of the Elves flew through the clear night sky and stuck down one ragged line of goblins after another.

And still they came. In after-days it became a subject of debate as to whether or not the allies would have prevailed against the goblin horde, all other things being equal. All were certainly agreed that the arrival of the Beornings from the east was timely, coming through the pass lately freed from the orcs and passing unhindered through the allied host until meeting the waves of goblins with an irresistible tide of fury. Mighty men, taller than the Dunedain, broader than the Dunlenders, came to the front of the battle, wielding great clubs and thick staves. Rising from the field of war, stained a wet black by light of star and torch, the foul scent of the blood of orcs filled their nostrils and they were overcome with a towering rage. One by one they cast aside their blunt weapons of wood as they transformed into fearsome bears of great size and power. Roaring above the clash of war, the ferocious bears swept through the goblin host and their advance sent the orcs screaming and yammering back.

A great full-throated cheer arose from the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, for they highly esteemed the Beornings. Indeed, many living dwarves still remembered Beorn the Skin-changer, who had fought in the Battle of the Five Armies. Perhaps the dwarves of Erebor did not have much else in common with their neighbors, but they certainly shared with the Beornings a great hatred of the goblins.

The first goblins to flee from the Beornings were the first to be slain by the second great mass of orcs that now marched upon the field. The deserting goblins met only the wicked curved blades of the great orcs and many, seeing the first deserters slain, turned again without choice, but with more hope of victory, to the battle. They had reserved in their last and greatest number, their biggest and boldest fighters. Now Ulfang the Dunlender saw the wisdom of Celeborn in freeing the eastern pass and combining the forces, for this last host of orcs blew upon their horns, and more horn cries answered from the mountain gates. The battle began anew, in the darkest hours of the night, and even with the Beornings, the outcome was in doubt. The great orcs, reserved for the final push, were nearly fresh, having only marched some distance and not having fought with desperate strength for hour upon hour. And there were so very many. Now, surely, every living orc of the North was gathered in the valley to fight for Gundabad.

As the men of Eriador and Dale were pushed back to their own lines of defense, joined by the dwarves of Erebor and even the great Beornings, the call of elvish trumpets was lifted to the stars and a great hail of arrows covered the fighting retreat of the allied armies. This retreat was just that, a strategic withdrawal to a better defensive position, not the kind of rout that fleeing generals sometimes call a retreat to salve their wounded careers. The trumpets of the elves called their allies to the trenches they had dug in the weeks of the siege, and from here they would stand and fight. The great war engines of the goblins were turned again, and this time would be used against the fresh horde of orcs to the west.

It seemed at last that the strategy of the Aragorn, the tactics of Celeborn, and the valour of the allied soldiers would win the day. They awaited the sunrise as the goblins hurled themselves in vain fury at the allied entrenchments.

But now the course of the battle turned against them, for there were other strategies and tactics at work that darksome night. From the west, behind the goblin horde, there rose into the sky small winged shapes that took flight over the orcish host and toward the allied soldiers. Soon, it could be seen by the elves in the moonless sky that these were creatures the size of wolves, some were larger than horses, and all had long necks and tails like snakes and great wings like bats. When sulphurous flames issued forth from their nostrils, all doubt was removed.

The goblin horde screamed in foul delight and a cry of fright went up from the allies as they all realized that scores of fire-breathing dragons were joining the battle. Even the stoutest of dwarves, bravest of men, and coolest of elves felt great despair and tremendous fear. Fighting a host of orcs on the ground, with cold steel, hard armour, and strong defenses, was one thing. Fighting a swarm of dragons, breathing fire from the sky, was something else entirely.

They were hideous creatures, and not at all like the cute and cuddly representations you might see on store shelves, made by unscrupulous manufacturers of cheap toys. Their scales were slick and gleaming, their stench noxious and choking, and their forms were vile and fearsome. Their eyes cast rays of searing light across the land, and whomsoever was caught in their gaze fell under the dragon spell. These unfortunates, in small groups along the front, were spellbound where they stood until they were consumed with dragon fire and cried in terrible anguish as they fell burning to the ground. The dragons raked the allied lines over and over again, to the horrid delight of the cheering and jeering goblin rabble. Now fear struck every heart, for there are but few who have seen a dragon and lived to tell the tale.

The largest of the dragonets, for they were dragons but recently hatched, flew to the battle ahead of its nestmates and they followed it. It was nearly twice the size of the others, for it had led its fellow hatchlings in pursuit of the goblins through their secret tunnel out of Gundabad. Consequently, it had eaten many more goblins than the others and had grown at a greater speed. This dragon wore black armour fashioned beforehand and fitted across its pale chest and belly. Across its back there was a saddle and upon it rode Alatar the Black.

The wizard was dressed in gleaming black armour and a black cloak flew behind him in the wind of the dragon's flight. Alatar looked down with a baleful eye upon his enemies and their fear and desperation grew fivefold. From a great quiver on his back, he grasped the first of many spears, and chanted over it in a fell voice that carried over the field and made the soldiers feel cold despite the heat of battle and the dragon fire. Suddenly, the wizard hurled the spear down from on high, crying aloud the final word of his spell as it smote in the midst of a group of dwarves. The entire valley was lit as if by a flash of lightning. All eyes could see those unfortunate sons of Durin sent flying in the blast, broken by its force and struck dead before their bodies fell back to the bloody field.

The goblin forces shrieked with great joy at this. Between dragon fire, sorcerous power, and a host of wicked orcs, there was no chance that the allied kings and their forces would survive the night. None in that valley thought so on either side of the battle lines.

***

Turry looked at Faramir and saw the same fear and doubt in his father's eyes. The Took archers from the Shire, in position around the royal pavilion to protect the Queen and the Heir, were also afraid. Few of them had ever been outside of the Shire before, and for all their bravery and good intentions before the battle, and even during the first and second watches of the night, they had never really felt that the combat would ever reach the pavilion itself, stationed far behind the lines of strong men, enduring dwarves, and skillful elves. But it seemed now that nothing could stop the dragons in their flights, and naught but burning death was in their wake. A stream of messengers and finally Lord Celeborn himself and many others, captains and kings, came to the pavilion. After a time, trumpets blew and a murmur began to spread through the host. Here and there, elvish voices were raised in song of battle and hearts were emboldened and lifted up, for the voices were both fair and fell. Now, the keen-eyed young Took saw the dragons were headed straight for the pavilion and the duty of the hobbits was clear. Turry grabbed his father and quickly explained his plan, before dashing off to find Master Merry.

***

Just minutes before, in the tents of the pavilion itself, Ellie held Eldarion in her arms, for Queen Arwen had told her to take up the little Prince again, so that she might flee with him from the last desperate stand. It was hoped that an Heir of Elendil might still live if all was lost. This seemed a forlorn hope, for if all was lost, then there would be no one to guard the infant prince from his foes until he was old enough to fight, and there would be no one for him to lead, should he survive to such an age. None of them could shake the malevolent thoughts. Arwen gird herself with elvish armour that was gracefully fitted to her lovely form, and took up sword and bow so that she would not be taken by the goblins, as had been her mother Celebrian. Ellie cried to see this, even as Mehirabeth calmly packed items that the little hobbit might need and otherwise helped her Queen make ready to fight.

The Kings of the Wilderland and Celeborn Lord of Rivendell stood before them when the three left the royal tent, preparing to flee into the night. The tall silver-haired elf looked gravely upon his granddaughter, Arwen Undomiel, her elvish handmaiden, Mehirabeth, and finally upon her hobbit handmaiden, Elediriel.

"There is no time for lengthy advice, Arwen, but you have a full store of wisdom, and may even elude capture. Where are you headed?" the elf-lord asked.

"East, through the pass, and then south to Rohan and Gondor," Arwen answered. "Rivendell may be nearer for me, but Gondor is better for my son, and it is from Gondor and Rohan that the last stand will be made."

"Then we must hurry," said Celeborn. "I have prepared for this, and we must get you through the lines, if it is still possible."

"We will make it possible," said King Thranduil. "Archers will help to hold off the encirclement, and give you more time."

"And dwarves will guard your retreat," said King Thorin. No one spoke of what chance the Queen might have, in the wilderness with dragons in pursuit. Arwen seemed resolved to leave when finally one of the rangers arrived, late, to the hurried meeting. His steps were not sure in the darkness, lit only by stars and flames. Then he saw them and hurried with faltering strides.

"It is too late! The dragons are coming!" cried Cairduin, staggering into the pavilion, burnt and bleeding. Ellie screamed in horror at the sight, for she could not even tell, except by the voice, that it was her ranger friend. This was the first time that the tender hobbit lass felt the full terror of war and she could not contain herself. Mehirabeth calmly poured a bit of miruvor for the girl to ease her shock, for she was an elf-maid of many long years and knew somewhat of the miseries of war. It is surprising how some of the folk who seem most unpleasant in days of ease, can be gentle and kindly in times of great need. Ellie tried to regain her composure as the dying ranger fell to his knees before his Queen.

"The dragons follow the wizard. They evade the archers and will not fly near them. But the rest of us are facing the dragon fire," Cairduin said between ragged breaths. "Our armour and shields are useless! Even now, the foe moves to surround our eastern flank, and none of us shall escape. But we will try to clear a way for you. Elladan, your brother, and Aradhel, your servant, are preparing the cavalry. The enemy completes the circle, but we will breach the lines before they dig in, and perhaps you will find safety for the Heir of Elendil. I will return to the front."

He staggered to his feet, and then fell to the ground with no strength left. Arwen, for all of her elven calm, cried out, and kneeling, cradled the bleeding head of the horribly burned man in her arms. "Farewell, Queen Arwen Undomiel," he breathed. "I shall never look upon my King, my sons, or my wife again, and perhaps none of us ever shall. But if you should, then let them know that this ranger died well."

And with that, the grim ranger spent his last breath. Elediriel cried tears that no elf-draught could staunch, but her mind was clear and her limbs felt strong when the Queen spoke. Arwen stood to her feet, tall and graceful, her beautiful queenly armour wet with the blood of Cairduin and her eyes brimming with tears that would not yet fall, "I will stand with my people! None of these, from the greatest to the least, will have died in vain. Grandfather, I will not flee with Eldarion, son of Aragorn. We will stay and see my King's plan through to the end. We have not come through ages of shadow to spend our lives vainly in this last unforeseen battle. Nor shall I have the lives of these soldiers spent for a mere chance of safety. I will not lose faith, for my son and I shall share his father's fate whatever that may be."

Lord Celeborn saw the resolve of her mind and did not waste breath in argument. Perhaps he thought that the fate she spoke of was death by dragon fire. Nevertheless, he bid his herald blow his trumpet to recall the last cavalry charge before it was begun. Word began to spread throughout the entrenched allies, even as the dragons wheeled about overhead, that Arwen and Eldarion were staying, and the resolve of the noble host grew with the telling. Elves dared raise their voices in song, and fired long flaming shots into the sky. Hearts were also raised and men and dwarves and elves prepared to fight so that even if all should die, no enemy would survive to boast of it. But it was then that the hard warning of the ranger Cairduin was borne out. The dragons were guided toward the pavilion from afar, cutting a swath of flame and terror through the soldiers as they flew, ever over the dwarves and men, and away from the bows of the elves.

It was at this very time, in the midst of fire, despair and death, that Legolas Greenleaf returned, somehow finding a way through the closing enemy lines. Into the royal pavilion with the wood elf, walked an old man with a gnarled staff. His long whitened hair and beard were blown wildly in the cold winds, and the tattered rags and faded blue fabrics that clothed him were whipped about his bent frame. Of course, it was Pallando the Blue, and in the midst of fire and war, none in the pavilion were more surprised than King Thranduil, the father of Legolas, who stood speechless in growing wrath at the sight of his son with the old wizard. He was not speechless for long.

As voices were raised in the pavilion, and as dragons brought flame and destruction from above, Ellie oddly found herself frightened for Maddie and the others. The little hobbit lass suddenly realized what had gone unspoken, that with all these small dragons in the sky, there must be a big one shrouded in the cellars of Gundabad! How she wished once again that they were all safely home and that none of this had ever happened!