[piosenniel]

Arry's post

Skald leaned forward in his chair, his chin planted firmly on his fist. The fingers of his right hand drummed quietly on the table top as the others spoke of war and killing. His dark eyes were troubled with news he’d heard earlier that day. Not wanting to frighten Unna and Leifr he’d waited to share what he had learned until they were safely away in their quarters.

Before Riv could answer Bror's question, Skald spoke up.

‘Want to know the interesting . . . no, make that disturbing . . . morsel I picked up from the King’s guard today? . . . And from Father, too.’ Riv and the others looked at him expectantly.

‘Father was speaking to the King. About some special delivery of stones . . . no, not now but way back . . . before we were twinkles in his eye I think. Anyway, they were for the head of the Jewelsmiths’ Guild, Celebrimbor . . . and a shipment of mithril, too . . . some very high grade stuff.’ He leaned even further across the table, his voice dropping low. ‘Apparently the Elves used them in some big secret project, according to one of the guards. He said Durin opened his locked iron chest and took out some small carven box. He and Father had their heads together whispering about the object in it. Whatever it was it gleamed brightly when the light caught it for a moment. Then the King locked it away . . .’

Before they could hiss ‘And . . .?’ at him. Skald went on.

‘Well, I asked Father about it. At first, all the old man would do was shake his head, his fists clenched. They were fools, he muttered, looking into the distance past me. Damned, silly fools! he said angrily. Father said there was someone whom the Jewelsmiths placed their trust in . . . someone who taught them some special skills in the art of smithing.’ Skald’s throat was dry from talking and he paused, taking a long pull at his mug.

‘And now the Elves, the King had told Father, had done something to displease this teacher of theirs. They have something that he wants badly and he’s bent on getting it. And what’s worse apparently he’s not the kindly, gracious fellow they thought him. He’s got the force to back up his words. That’s what the Orcs are doing all stirred up and starting to cause troubles.

‘When I asked Father who this fellow was, he grew red in the face and spat on the floor. Mahal take the deceiver! he growled. Calling himself Aulendil! . . . Why, he left Mahal’s service long ago . . . taking after that black-hearted Master . . .’

Skald took another sip, the alefoam glistened on the tips of his thick mustache. ‘The old man ranted and raved for a bit . . . you know how he can go on. I was trying desperately to piece together the dribs and drabbles of information I’d eked out from him. Finally, in desperation, I shouted “Hey!” at him as loudly as I could. Got his attention, it did. Quiet little Skald yelling!’

‘Look, I told him, Riv and Bror and Orin and me along with a few of others of us have been asked to escort some Elves from the Lady of the Wood, under the mountain and out to Ost-in-Edhil. Armed Elves. And there may be more coming through. Sounds like it’s more than just some polite visit from one land to another. What are we getting into? Who’s this person you keep cursing at?’

‘Well, I have to tell you what he said next nearly unbraided my beard!’ Skald rubbed his chin hard with his hand, a familiar nervous habit on his part.

‘The Dark Lord! Father whispered, not wanting to name him out loud.’

‘The Dark Lord! I squeaked . . . yes, I’m not ashamed, I squeaked . . . you all remember the horror stories of the great battles against him and his Orcs and worse . . . before Beleriand fell under the waves. Anyway, I managed to stutter out the question that was now burning in my mind. The Dark Lord had escaped from where The Great Ones put him and was back?’

‘Not him, Father said. . . . but just as foul . . . his bootlicking, black-hearted-as-his-Master, servant . . . Sauron . . .’

‘ “Sauron!” I managed to say in a mangled yelp. I remember dreadful stories about him’

‘Yes, Sauron. He’s got himself a dark place between the Ash Mountains and the Shadow Mountains, the King’s told me. And he’s stirring up the foul spawn his Master made. Orcs and who knows what other fearsome beasts. He’s coming for something the Elves have hidden away . . .’

Skald’s voice drifted off into the silence of the room. His hands were clasped tightly about his mug and he stared into it as if it held the secret to keeping his sense of dread at bay. He looked up at his brothers and uncle . . .