[piosenniel]

King Durin leads his men in an attack against the rear positions of Sauron’s troops

King Durin paced the width of his great hall, his booted footsteps thumping heavily against the smooth marbled stone of the floor. A decision must be made . . . and soon . . . he thought to himself. ‘Think, man, think!’ he spoke harshly to himself, his eyes fixed on the floor as he walked along.

Of the thirty Dwarves he’d sent to accompany Lord Celeborn and his Elven warriors to where the Elves from Lindon were encamped, only ten had returned. He recalled his moments of panic when the message had come to him of this small number and the small measure of relief when he learned the others were unharmed, but staying on to lend their axes to the Lindon Elves. Since then, he had increased the number of scouts he sent out each day to bring him news of the battle raging against the Elven city.

Rori Ironfoot, who had led the Dwarves accompanying the Lorien Elves, was one of the Dwarves who had volunteered to go back out as a scout. His brother had stayed behind with the Lorien Elves, saying that he wanted to blood his ax on as many Orc necks as he could. The Ironfoot’s youngest brother had been killed a few months back during one of the times the Dwarves had escorted a group of Lorien warriors to the jewel-smiths’ city. It was Rori, on his way backwith the remaining other nine Dwarves, who brought back the news that the city was nearly overrun. And that the size of Sauron’s forces was so large that even the combined forces of Lindon, Lorien, and the Dwarves would not be able to get through them. In fact, he had told the King, it would be most likely that they would be overrun themselves and slaughtered.

The sun was going down as Durin poured over his reports and looked at the map on which he’d plotted the reports of Sauron’s troops activity and the placement of the Lindon Elves. The long shafts that let in the sun’s light had grown dark and now several retainers had come into the hall to light the many crystal lamps which hung from the cavern’s ceiling and along the smooth stone walls.

The King’s attention was caught by the mirror like surface of the hall’s floor. He could see the soft reflections of the retainers as they passed from lamp to lamp and those of others as they brought in a tray of food for him to eat and pitchers of water and of wine. For one small window of time their images would sharpen as they passed through the direct line of his gaze. Their images would begin to soften about the edges, then, and fade. Disappearing altogether as they moved farther from him.

Durin’s fist closed hard about the vellum map that lay before him, crumpling it into a tight, ungainly wad. He shook off the cloud of indecision that had him at an impasse for so long. If he did not act soon, his subjects would fade into nothingness . . . death would take them. They would be gone, much as the images of those who passed across the marbled floor were at last lost to his sight. And how would he explain then, to their families and their Forge halls that he had hesitated and they had paid the price?

‘Call the Captains to me!’ he cried, startling one of the lamplighters as he did so. The Dwarf nodded his head and took off at a run, as did the other lighters, each heading for their halls to spread the word. The great horns that called the gatherings were blown as they headed out toward the passageways. And other horns, in farther reaches of the caverns, sent the call on.

The King has need of his axes. Come! Come! He commands you!

~*~

In a day’s time there were seven hundred Dwarves armored and weaponed and bearing shields slung on their backs. More would come from the further halls to the east, but not for several days. The seven hundred would leave now; the others follow.

Riv listened closely to the King’s plan. Sauron’s troops were for the most part occupied with looting the fallen city and those who had come against the Elves of Lindon and the Dwarves paid no attention to their rear. And why should they? There was nothing to challenge them from that direction.

‘But we will challenge them with our axes, staves, and blades,’ the King went on. ‘Falling upon them unsuspected. Their doom will march in our ranks and claim them!’ There were cheers at these stirring words, but the King quieted those gathered with a wave of his hand. ‘Some of us, too, will meet our own doom. Though our numbers are large, our blades sharp and our aim true, still we cannot outmatch the sheer number of them. So we must be quick and canny in our attack. Swift enough to make a significant number of kills and canny enough to draw them away from our beleaguered companions – lead them on a merry chase back to the West Door. We’ll slip in safe, then, and close it hard against them. Those with the Lindon Elves will have time enough to get away. And the Elves, if they use their vaunted wisdom will flee with them to safety.’

As did the other men, Riv had but a short time to make his farewells to his family. Ginna slept soundly through it all; the innocent sleep of babes for whom war and death have no meaning. Leifr held back as his father called him to him. His eyes were wide at the sight of the armor, shield, and warhammer. His memory already holding an image of his father injured and pale from an earlier encounter with Orcs. Riv crouched down and coaxed the boy to him, ruffling Leifr’s hair with his fingers as he pulled him in against his chest. The boy’s cheeks were red with the effort of holding back his tears. ‘It will be alright,’ he whispered to his son. ‘You’ll stay here with your Grandpa and keep Mami and Ginna safe for me.’ Leifr snuffled against his father’s chest and shook his head ‘yes’. Standing up, Riv opened his arms to Unna and clasped her hard against him. No words passed between them, they had all been said before. She stepped back a pace and clasping his hand, kissed the ring of promise he bore upon his finger there. Then gathering Leifr to her and Ginna snug against her shoulder she composed her face into a smile and withdrew to the ring of families who would be waiting for their loved one’s return.

~*~

With haste the King led his troops from beneath the mountains, their quick strides eating up the distance between them and the rearmost position of Sauron’s troops. And when they had found them, they fell upon the Orcs and Men without mercy, hewing them down in great numbers until the ground ran slick . . . the red blood of Men intermingling with the darker blood of Orcs . . .