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!

[Mithadan]

Chapter XXVII

...MUST COME DOWN!

Now, if you, like Ellie, would care to know what had happened in all this while to King Strider and his friends on eagles' wings, we must return to when and where we left them the previous morning, high over the tallest peak of Mount Gundabad, lit by the dawning sun as it stood alone above the low clouds and mists of Autumn.

The eagles landed them on the floor of a tiny cove on the north side of the mighty peak. Furry and Maddie found the snows to be cold to their bare feet, not so cold as you or I might, for hobbit feet had thick leathery soles and were covered with hair like the stuff on their heads, but it was mightily cold all the same!

Fortunately, they were not to stand around on the icy space for very long, though it seemed so to the shivering hobbits. Rondramehir gravely said goodbye to Maddie and the rest, and then the great birds took wing again, promising to return before the next day dawned. She looked long at the eagles as they flew away, while Gimli searched for the entrance to the mountain. On the south wall of the cove, covered with snow and ice, was a narrow crevice, which Aragorn agreed was the thing they sought. Once it had been a fairly wide opening into a large chamber. Now they had to hack away at the ice so that there would be room to squeeze inside. The young ranger Cairdur did most of the work, until the others insisted that he save his strength and let them take their turns.

It was Elrohir, the son of Elrond, who swung the pick for the last strike and sent a great wall of ice crashing down so that the entrance was finally open. They crowded inside, and in the dim light, the hobbits could see that a stairway spiraled down into darkness. Gimli lit a very compact dwarvish lantern, which cast a small light about them that he could douse at a moment's notice. Then he shouldered his great pack, carried aloft separately to the icy peak by the strongest of the eagles, and hurried forward to lead the way.

"Hold, Master Dwarf!" cried Aragorn. "Let us make certain that we do not rush with your glowing lantern into the friendly embrace of the goblins!"

Cairdur and the hobbits had to laugh and even Elrohir smiled at the great dwarf's eagerness to explore the goblin stronghold. Madrigal reminded herself that the mountain had originally been inhabited by dwarves, and dwarves never forgot, though ages might pass, wrongs that had been done them. Furry winked at her as Gimli stopped in his tracks and courteously bowed before his old friend, the king.

The old ranger himself carried a rather bulky pack. From it, he withdrew an instrument of unique design, wrought not by dwarves, but by the same elves who had reforged Anduril long ago. Aragorn held the case aloft by a handle and with the other hand released a catch. A tall pole dropped from the bottom, each section slightly smaller than the one above it. With a sharp spin, the shaft was locked into place and three legs swung from the bottommost segment with a quiet snap. Then Aragorn opened the case with both hands, for now it stood supported at eye level, and revealed the Palantir of Orthanc.

It was fixed within a setting of iron, like a great jewel, and could be freely rotated. The setting itself moved on a gimbal so that the Palantir was always upright, whatever the slope of the ground upon which the stand was set. It was clearly the same stand that Aragorn had used when revealing the Palantir at the first council in the fortress of Rhudaur, though it had already been opened at that time. Gimli clapped his hands at the clever device, for it was fair and sturdy and clearly of great use to the king, but it was obvious even to the fascinated dwarf that this was not the time to question the king about its design and manufacture.

King Strider carefully positioned the Palantir in its iron setting and gazed for a few moments into the orb and down through the rock of the mountain, following the spiraling course of the stair, looking for any sign that might indicate the long passage was inhabited. The hobbits listened to the blowing winds, still heard within the guard chamber, until the king was at last satisfied that they could proceed. Outside, the sun had climbed high overhead, and battle was joined on the mountain slopes, but no sound of it carried to the hobbits' listening ears.

They made their way carefully down the crumbling stair, lit only by the dwarven lamp in Gimli's sturdy fist and an occasional shaft that still brought meager light and air into the tall stairwell. The dwarf went first, followed by Aragorn and the hobbits. Cairdur marched behind his king, and Elrohir trod with light elven steps at the end of their line. Furry insisted that Maddie stay next to the wall, and she did not object, for the way was narrow and the drop precipitous. She got dizzy if she looked down into the darkness for very long.

It seemed to Maddie that their time on that long stair was even greater than the time they spent on the icy peak, now far above them, but they were moving cautiously and quietly down the abandoned passage, disturbing only the thick dust at their feet. Finally they did come near the end of the stairs and paused while Aragorn surveyed the Palantir to see the way before them. The grey-headed king looked long at the crystal orb, as if he could not quite believe what it revealed to him. He sighed at last and replaced the enchanted heirloom in its bag under his elven cloak.

"Our plan has either worked far better than I dared hope, or something has gone terribly wrong. This part of the mountain is indeed deserted," Aragorn said. "I expected to encounter at least a few goblins, but there are none."

"There are some," said Elrohir, "but they are not near." His sword gave off a faint bluish gleam.

"But that's what we wanted, isn't it?" asked Furry. "A deserted mountain?"

"Indeed, little halfling," said Elrohir. "But if the goblins are not in abundance in the mountain, then they are outside of it, and so the safety we receive is the peril given to our friends."

"Then we shall create a little peril of our own," said Gimli. "Let's be off to the cisterns!"

"Right!" said Cairdur. "Since they are risking life and limb to buy us this opportunity, let us make the most of it!"

"This way," said Aragorn, now leading the companions to the great cisterns of Gundabad. Along the way, Gimli quietly explained to the hobbits the ancient construction practices of the dwarves.

"You would not believe how much water a dwarven settlement requires," said the old dwarf. "Water for drinking and water for cooking. Water for turning wheels to drive various machinery. But can you guess why we dwarves so prize the crystal clean water of melted snow?"

"Tempering dwarven axes?" answered Furry.

"Bathing?" ventured Maddie.

"Beer!" cried Gimli. "Fine malt beer! Why the beer of the dwarves is unsurpassed, and one of the secrets, which perhaps I should not admit, is crystal water from the snowmelt of the mountains."

"Then you haven't tried the Wizard's Brew in Bree!" said Furry. "When we get back, I'll buy you a round and you'll never boast of dwarven beer again!"

"Hush," said Elrohir. "You grow too loud in your praises of mortal beverages. Besides, nothing is finer than the miruvor of Rivendell." None could argue with this, though Furry insisted that the enchanted beer of the Prancing Pony was hard to beat, and not, strictly speaking, an entirely mortal beverage.

Maddie was about to recommend the wines of Dorwinion, which she had sampled at the Mid-Year's Feast in the Shire the year before, when they arrived at the door to the great cavern that was the ancient reservoir the Longbeards had built centuries ago. Again, Aragorn surveyed the Palantir and Elrohir checked the blue gleam of his sword and they were satisfied that there were no goblins present. So the rangers and the elf slowly pushed a great stone door open just enough to slip past. Then, they crept out onto the ledge overlooking the cavern and Maddie took a sharp breath at the sight.

The ice crystals of the cavern's low ceiling reflected and refracted the light of Gimli's lamp, and he dared to turn up its brilliance until the entire vault was lit with white radiance. It was not terribly bright in the great chamber, but to the hobbits' eyes, used now to the dark, it was dazzling. Beneath the icy dome was a deep lake of the darkest blue. It did not look very deep, but Gimli assured them that it was.

"The water is so clear that you can see the bottom as if it were only a foot deep, but it is many, many fathoms to the bottom," the dwarf whispered, and his voice echoed back from across the lake.

"Let us be on our way," Aragorn murmured. He signaled for Gimli to dim his lamp and then led them around the shore of the deep cistern. On the far side, Maddie could see that the dwarves had built a mighty wall to dam the water and so form the great lake under the mountain. When they reached the other side, the path became a long stair that switched back and forth down the massive wall to the floor of the great cavern.

"How far down are we?" asked Maddie quietly.

"Not far at all," Gimli answered. "We are still high above the valley. This cistern is actually near the top of the original excavations. Thus, when released, the fall of the water can turn wheels and otherwise be piped under its own power down to any portion of the realm for the use of the inhabitants. But we will soon put this to our own use! Now, young hobbits, help me with my pack."

They had reached the bottom of the cistern, and the hobbits tried, and failed, to lift the heavy pack from the shoulders of the dwarf. Gimli finally just sat down and squirmed out of the straps. Maddie marveled at the strength and endurance of the old dwarf. But the dwarf made light of it and quickly opened the pack and unwrapped the machine inside.

It was an odd-looking thing to be sure, a cross between a dwarvish toy and some kind of war engine. The device was a combination of iron gears and tightly wound sinews. Gimli and Cairdur set it by the wall and the dwarf busily went to work laying out tools. "It will take a while, as I told you at the outset," he said. "Now is the time for you to find out what lies below, as I make ready here. Be wary! The bones of this mountain are simply rotten with ill-planned goblin tunnels and shafts. They could be hiding anywhere! You should take me with you, for my axe would gladly taste the blood of these foul orcs of Gundabad, and my eyes would gladly behold the sacred chamber where Durin woke, whatever else may occupy it now!"

"No Gimli," said Aragorn. "It is for that very reason I would urge you stay, for we must be stealthy now, and the debt of the dwarves must be put off for a little longer. Could you restrain your just wrath at the sight of whatever desecrates the chamber?"

"My heart trembles even now," the dwarf answered. "I will yield to your wisdom in this."

Elrohir was to stay with the dwarf, for his sword would warn them of approaching orcs. The hobbits followed quietly behind Aragorn and Cairdur, as they sought an unobserved path to the unknown danger in the bottom-most cellar. As before, they did not move until the king had surveyed the Palantir, and was certain that they could continue to the next place. He carried it in its setting on its stand as if it were a great staff. Furry now noticed that the elvish craftsmen had made a place for the king's hand so that it balanced well in his strong grip, heavy as it was. In this fashion, the rangers and the hobbits made their way down past the very heart of the goblin kingdom.

The map (which both hobbits had studied until their heads ached, at the insistence of old Pippin) had shown a great open tunnel, high and wide, that led down to the lowest cellar. But Aragorn chose a different route. Their way was long and twisting to avoid detection and along that way, Madrigal saw what Gimli meant about the bones of the mountain. Older tunnels and corridors seemed to slant in odd ways, as if they had settled unevenly, and cracks and fissures were everywhere. After they had gone along this way for some time, carefully and slowly, Furry guessed that it was now very late at night, perhaps even the second watch, and he wondered how the battle was going out in the valley.

So too, did the king and the ranger wonder, and so, at their final stop before rejoining the great corridor nearer to its end, Aragorn surveyed the Palantir for news of the battle outside. It was difficult to make sense of the confusion of a battle in the broad clear daylight, but on a moonless night, it was nearly impossible. Still, Aragorn had become skilled in the use of his great heirloom and could see well enough that all was not well, yet all was not bad.

"They have freed the pass, for I see dwarves in the fight, but our forces have retreated to the trenches," said the old ranger-king. "Much more I cannot tell, but I can see why there are few goblins in here. Nearly every orc alive must have joined the battle above!"

"How I wish that we were there, too," said Cairdur fervently.

"As do I," said Aragorn. "But your fair blade and Anduril, here, may yet taste of battle, ere we reach the field. There are still goblins enough and more at the gates of this realm. It would be good fortune beyond belief if we do not encounter any."

And with that, they moved on just as quietly as they could, but still Furry and Maddie could hear the light scuff of the rangers' leather-shod feet on the canted floor of the corridor. The hobbit lass pushed ahead and tugged at Aragorn's grey elven cloak.

"King Strider!" she whispered. "You stop right now! You rangers might be good in the woods, but no one is as quiet as a hobbit when she wants to be! This is why we came. Now, we're almost there, so you two Big Folk should stay right here and let us Little Folk take a quick peek!"

Aragorn weighed this swiftly in his mind, and then softly said, "Go! But only take a quick look. Use the elven cloaks of your grandfathers to full advantage, and stay hidden. Do not be seen! Do not be heard! Come straight back without delay! Now hurry!"

Furry and Maddie did not need to be told twice. As frightened as they were of whatever might be in the cellar at the end of the great corridor, their curiosity was greater, and so, hand in hand (as much due to the darkness as for the comfort it gave) they crept silently down the way. The stone grew warm beneath their bare feet and Maddie almost appreciated this, since it was the first time her feet had been warm in quite some time. Finally, they stole around the last bend of the hall and its final downward slope and peeked cautiously around the great stone columns of the cellar entrance.

Wordlessly, breathlessly, in terror and in wonder, they gazed upon a living horror of the ancient world. The vast cavern was uncomfortably warm and lit with a dim fiery glow. By it, the hobbits could see vast wealth upon the floor, golden heaps of treasure and glittering gems. But in coil upon coil, nestled atop the hoard, lay the hugest dragon imaginable. The sound of its breathing was like a gigantic rumbling wheezing bellows and it exuded a foul stench. Its scales may have been golden, once upon a time, but were now caked with years of black stony filth. It lay without moving, save for the rise and fall of its tremendous chest. The thing was vast, huge beyond reckoning, and as large as was the cavern that was her lair she made it seem much smaller, for she nearly filled the entire chamber in her immensity.

Her name was Veatrix the Golden, and she, in her day, had been great and terrible indeed. But in the last overthrow of Morgoth, when the world was bent in the tumults of the final war of the Valar, she fled, coming at last to Gundabad, and crawled into its lowermost cellar never to come out again. She was old then, and now she was ages older. She had lived beyond her time, served by the goblins that became her servants, and finally, her worshippers.

In horror, the hobbits saw that the piles upon the floor were not treasures alone, but corpses, bones, and skulls of goblins. Bones of great orcs and of goblin imps were spewed out in heaps upon the floor. Veatrix was rather dainty, as far as dragons go, and did not care for the bones of the foul folk if she were not hungry. But as she had not missed a meal in ages, she ate what she pleased, and none dared complain.

Now, most dragons, as is well known, do not suffer any other living thing in their lairs, but old Veatrix was cunning, and her fear of the Valar overruled her solitary nature. She shrouded herself from magical view and agreed to help the goblins defeat the Longbeards in ages past. She used this singular cohabitation as a perfect disguise for her lair, for who would think to look for a dragon in such a place? In return, she demanded and received the bloody sacrificial tribute of the goblins and gave them the benefit of her cunning so that they remained strong and she remained hidden. Now Furry and Maddie knew what the Bane of Gundabad actually was!

Then Maddie saw something still more troubling! What at first glance she had taken to simply be a grisly pile of broken skulls was actually the shards from a clutch of empty dragon eggs. Why, the old thing had recently hatched a brood! Maddie pointed, and Furry's eyes grew wide as he understood. His handsome face hardened and he motioned for them to leave. Ever so quietly, the hobbits slipped away from the sleeping beast and returned to where the rangers still stood, warily guarding the way.

Furry quickly told Aragorn what they had seen, with Maddie adding details as the young Took told the swift tale. Most surprising was the description of the broken eggs. Aragorn again used the Palantir to survey the battlefield. His face grew pale and with a sharp command to follow, they ran straight up the open corridor to the great reservoir. Elrohir and Gimli were waiting. The dwarf had just completed his work.

"Ah! There you are at last!" said the dwarf. "What did you find down in... a dragon! A dragon profanes the sacred chamber where Durin awoke!"

"How did you know?" asked Maddie, a little disappointed that she did not get to surprise the old dwarf.

"I can smell the dragon-reek on the both of you young hobbits!" he cried. "To think of it! Elrohir, is there a laundry in Rivendell that can remove such a stench?"

"Elven garments hold no foul odors," the elf answered, with a trace of a smile. "Perhaps the maidens who delight in handling fabrics know some art that would help. Or perhaps the garments should be buried."

"Later, we can all bury or burn every stitch of clothing not fashioned on elvish looms," said Cairdur, with a straight face. "But will your contraption work, Gimli?"

"Of course it will work! All I need do is pull this pin," he said proudly, "and the mechanism will gradually spread these stones apart. See how we have inserted these rods into the crevices? Hard work that, especially since it had to be done noiselessly. But I remembered a method once used in repairing the carven bedframe of my father's friend Bombur. The fat old fellow actually insisted that we do our work without waking him, and since no other bed could accommodate his girth..."

"I would hear that tale another time, Master Dwarf," Aragorn said dryly.

"Suffice it to say then," said Gimli, "that this device will gradually part these dry set stones where they sit and the water behind the dam will flood down the great corridor and into the dragon's lair. Thus, we only need trigger the machine and virtually everything below this site will be drowned! Once I start it, it will unwind until the stones move, and then the weight of the water behind this wall will do the rest. No force under ground or sky could stop it then. We will cleanse the sacred chamber with water and ice and drown the worm for a hundred years!"

"Then what are we waiting for?" asked Furry.

"Really! My feet are freezing again!" said Maddie. But Aragorn was surveying the Palantir.

"If all is well," the king said, "then the eagles await us. I fear that everything has gone entirely too well for us, but we must not be unthankful for that. There is dragon fire and more over the valley and others have fared worse than ourselves tonight! Come, Gimli! Let us send a cool drink to a hot dragon and be on our way!"

The dwarf bowed low, and swept his helm before his knees. Then he walked over to his device, murmured something in the secret tongue of the dwarves, pulled a pin, and watched for a moment as the enormous tension of the wound mechanism began to release itself. Slowly the steel pins began to move and almost imperceptibly the stones at the center of the base of the dam also moved. A tiny trickle began to seep from between the large blocks.

"We haven't much time!" cried the dwarf. "We must make haste! Quickly! To the top of the wall and out of here before it blows!"

The party hurried to heed the dwarf's advice. But Aragorn's foreboding that all had gone too well for such a dangerous mission was not a gloomy imagining. For as they hurried, Madrigal's bare foot slipped on the icy stair and she tumbled back down an entire flight to the base of the wall. It was at that moment that the cold trickle became a sudden rushing torrent and Maddie was swept away, back down into the great corridor and out of the sight of her friends. Above the roaring waters, as she gasped for breath in the frigid cold, she could just hear the anguished voice of Furry, calling her name. Then she was swept helplessly on the speeding current down, down, down, directly into the dragon's lair! Her head was knocked against the very column at its entrance where she had hidden with Furry to look upon the beast. Then she knew nothing more.

***

Madrigal Brandybuck awoke, cold and shivering, to a sudden warmth. She might have welcomed the hot blast of air, had it not come with sulphurous fumes and the stench of foul decay. She heard the torrent rushing behind her and wondered why it was not filling the caves. She opened her eyes to see, but leering over her was the hideous head of the dragon. Maddie then did what any lass of the Shire might have done in such a situation.

"Stop thy screaming!" cried the dragon. "Look upon me well, child, for I am Veatrix the Golden, and I am thy death!" A trifle melodramatic, perhaps, but that was a tendency of dragons in any age, and Veatrix was terribly ancient, and terribly vain.

"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty," said Maddie, after she stopped screaming and drew a breath. She knew that politeness counted with dragons, as much as anything might. "I was so startled that I did not realize where I had fallen and I utterly forgot myself. It won't happen again! Did you enjoy your esteemed repose?"

"Nay! But now I know who troubled it! Thou it was, who didst peer in upon my slumber. Thou and another. I felt thy air after thou didst steal away. Thou wert wise to steal naught but the sight! Now tell me, child," said Veatrix, as sweetly as a dragon could (which was not very sweet at all, I must say), "who hideth behind thee and sendest a drowned waif of a girl to do a thief's work? Or be it the work of a warrior that thou art about?"

Now Maddie knew, as did any hobbit who listened to the old stories as much as she had, that it did not do to lie to a dragon, nor was it a clever thing to tell them exactly the truth, either. So she gave the best answer she could, which I daresay was better than you or I might have done in such a horrible situation. The old worm might have already placed the pretty hobbit girl under the dragon spell, except that she could not help playing a dragon's games with Maddie before dining. She had not seen a fresh young thing like Madrigal ever before and was working up a good appetite for the little morsel.

"I am neither thief nor warrior, O Greatest Queen of All Terrors!" replied the hobbit lass. "And none hide behind me, for few are small enough to do so. I am not a child, for I am fully grown. My name means Song, and many have sung of my beauty, though I must look a sight after my little bath. I really must thank you for such a nice warm place to dry off!"

"And what meaneth this bath of thine?" asked the dragon, who was not at all pleased with the rushing current of icy water flowing across the lowest end of her lair. "Didst thy friends thinketh to drown me? Well they be fools! I didst recently renovate, just in time for thy prank."

Madrigal followed the dragon's gaze to where an obviously new tunnel had been opened at the lowest corner of the chamber. There, the water that should have flooded the lair, was pooling and simply draining away through the goblin tunnel. It was then that Maddie nearly despaired, for she did not know how long she had been unconscious or how much water the reservoir held. At least the torrent had not yet shown signs of diminishing. She drew a deep breath, and played another dangerous round of the dragon's game.

"Why, who would have known that you would ever want to change anything in such a dwelling?" she asked. "It was quite awe inspiring as it was! Why, so much treasure! So many victims! Not even Smaug had such accommodations, I'm sure! Why ever did you want another entrance into your bed chambers?"

"Thou art, indeed, a child, for all thy protestations," replied the dragon. "For what thou seest be only an exit and wilt never be an entrance."

"But it is surely too small for Your Majesty's, uh, majesty," said Maddie, suddenly realizing that the dragon was also far too large to exit even through the great hall!

"Do not be preposterous if thou canst help it," huffed the ancient dragon. "My servant hath led the goblins away through here, where thy king's bauble canst not see! I didst plan to seal the hole, but desired my nap still more. So, it became a drain for thy bath and so all the plans of thy king and his armies to gain mine treasure hath been brought to naught!" Then she laughed a terrible laugh that made the little hobbit tremble with fear.

"But surely, O Mighty Empress of Despair, you can not blame them!" Maddie said, trying to seem nonchalant, walking about a little, as if taking in the sights of an elven valley. "Why, if anyone saw all of this, you would be the envy of the world! Wisdom beyond reckoning! Treasures beyond imagining! You even have a brood of fine children to call your own--." Here the hobbit girl touched upon a subject most touchy for dragons. As I'm sure I don't need to tell you, dragons do not live long after they lay their eggs, and so they tend to put off laying them for as long as they can. Veatrix had waited longer to lay hers than any dragon before her, enduring age after age, and for the last few millennia by hiding in Gundabad, living off of goblins and not much else. But even a dragon wearies of life at last, and this one had finally decided to lay her clutch of eggs and pass thereafter into stone. Fortunately, most dragons are slain before they perform this last monstrous deed, and this is a good thing, or dragons might overrun the world even to this day!

It was also not unheard of for young dragons to check in on their parent's horde and attempt to take up residence. If they were clever enough and waited enough so as not to be eaten by the dying dragon ere it became stone (which could take quite some time), they could then fight to the death with their nestmates for supremacy. The last dragon alive would then inherit. This competitive arrangement helped to keep the dragon population manageable. It was only when the first Dark Lord had a hand in matters that there were dragons of any great number at a given time, and the situation at Gundabad had given Alatar the Black a similar idea. His wicked plan was to use his sorcerous power to control (or to at least influence) the young dragons for his own ends. That was agreeable to Veatrix, who had demanded of him peace and quiet after a last meal of great variety and enormous quantity. All the same, it was vexing to Veatrix to be reminded of her inescapable demise.

"If any hatchling of mine didst appear here," the dragon cried in a voice like stone on stone, "their flesh wouldst be mine again, as was their father's! Nay! They goeth forth even now and giveth fire unto thy friends on the outside! Tonight, they dineth upon the roasted flesh of elf and dwarf and man! They shalt not return until I be long dead, if they knowest aught at all."

"Oh no!" cried Madrigal, in false pity. "You are surely not afraid that I will kill you?"

The dragon laughed a hideous wheezing laugh that shook the chamber and the poor little hobbit girl wondered if it would fall in upon them. "What a humourous notion," she said at last. "A fine entertainment before dinner! A fine supper of dwarves, and men, and even elves! Mounds of the freshly slain, hauled in on the backs of goblins, by order of mine servant. Art any more of thy sort about, I wonder? Do not lie, I see in thine eyes that there are! All the better! I be old, child, terribly old, and didst dine upon goblins for ages. Simply ages. My new servant hath pledged unto me a fine feast of choice roast meats ere I die. So didst I agree to lay mine eggs at last and return unto the stone." Veatrix was talking more than a dragon might, perhaps. But, like some elderly folk that you may even know, the dragon had become terribly lonely. Not that she wasn't planning to eat the little hobbit all the same!

"It's a shame that all you get is goblins," said Maddie, wandering about the great room nervously, her hand in her pocket, keeping an eye on the dragon and on the corridor. "I'm sure they taste simply terrible! But I don't think there will be many orcs left for you to eat, after we win the battle. Besides, I don't think Alatar the Black would keep his word even if he could."

"Then thou hast met him! But thou shouldst not fret on that account! Flesh in plenty shalt be brought unto me for a last dinner," said Veatrix. "And not one goblin on the platter! My servant dareth not defy me, lest I call upon mine heirs to slay him!" Her head slowly moved about the room, following the hobbit lass, keeping an eye on her and on the corridor.

"Yea!" continued the dragon, with her slithering tongue running around the cracked rim of her dreadful mouth and her vast stomach rumbling like an earthquake. "A fine repast wilt be mine this night! And thou shalt make a tasty appetizer, ere I dine in earnest!"

With that the great beast began to uncoil and move. Her stony scales splintered and cracked, and clouds of dust fell from her vast bulk. The beast's golden eyes glowed and cast their perilous beams in a swift sweeping arc across the floor toward Maddie. Seeing that the conversation was at an end, quick as you can say "flick," Madrigal whisked her dwarven mithril mirror out of her pocket, averted her eyes, and held it before the dragon's malevolent entrancing gaze. Later, Ellie would say that "the luck of the hobbits" was with her best friend, for when Maddie held up the mirror, a reflection of the golden beam was cast from the dragon's wicked eye straight back into it!

Now it is only fair to record that this was not nearly as efficacious as Madrigal had hoped, for she had actually imagined that the dragon spell might fall upon the very dragon that cast it! In fact, all that happened was that Veatrix was dazzled and surprised, and then outraged at the little trick. She drew a deep rattling breath like a cyclone and in the next moment would have roasted Madrigal Brandybuck on the spot, except that the clever hobbit girl had time to drop a stone into her sling. She whirled it like lightning straight into the golden eye of the ancient dragon!

Such a sound you never heard in your whole life! Indeed, Maddie's little pointed ears rang for sometime after that and it was several days before she could hear very well at all. But she didn't stick around to hear more! She ran as fast as her bare feet could scurry, splashing out into the icy corridor, and straight into Furry, knocking him flat on his back and falling atop him. Of course it was Furry, for her friends had certainly not abandoned her! Later (when Maddie could hear well enough to be told), she learned of how they had all swung across the torrent on an elvish rope with a dwarvish grapple to follow her to the dragon's lair.

"We have overstayed our welcome!" cried Aragorn. "Fly!"

"What?" asked Maddie, as she was picked up in strong craggy hands and found herself being jostled and bumped like a sack of potatoes, for Gimli the Renowned was running as fast as he could run with a hobbit slung across his broad back, splashing up the great corridor and away from the dragon. Between bounces the hobbit lass saw Furry quickly gain his furry feet and shoot his best arrows at the terrible face of Veatrix, now pushing through the entrance of her lair and far into the hall. The special dwarven arrowheads given him by King Thorin Stonehelm pierced her rotting scales and wounded her face dreadfully, for one arrow stuck in the dragon's eye (the same one Maddie had hit!), another pierced her ear, and another protruded from her bottom jaw and for a moment held it fast against the roof of her dreadful mouth.

Elrohir snatched the dauntless Took around the waist and ran with elven speed away from the dragon, which was now as enraged as only a wounded dragon of great pride and antiquity could be. Soon the speeding elf drew even with the dwarf as the rangers stepped aside. Aragorn and Cairdur let fly shaft after shaft at the face of the dragon, but their arrows were not tipped with mithril edges as were the hobbit's, and they rebounded harmlessly from the dragon's head. With a stifled roar, Veatrix shoved forward, pushed her forelegs as far to the front as they would go, and twisted her neck back with a great grinding noise until her claws could reach her mouth so that she could finally unclamp her jaws. At the last moment, the rangers turned and ran through the shallowest part of the icy stream that still cascaded down the sloping corridor. Choking fumes and searing heat followed them, singing leather, hair and skin, but the dragon herself did not follow.

Veatrix the Golden, in her great wrath, had forgotten for the moment how truly immense she had grown since she had long ago squeezed down the corridor and into her lair. She could go no farther and had to let her intended prey escape. Her vast bulk completely sealed the entrance to the corridor and the rushing water swirled about her and became a boiling roiling steam. This did not suit the dragon at all, who was not as hot as she had been long ago, and who had detested water even then. She tried to back out of the corridor into her chamber.

But she was, of course, stuck. In her hot fury, she had wedged herself too tightly into the corridor and was pinned! She couldn't budge an inch! Now the waters had nowhere else to run and were swiftly rising about her neck and shoulders. Veatrix cried aloud in a voice that shattered stone and split rock, but no goblin came to investigate, for those who were not in the field were too terrified at the sound to be the slightest bit curious. The beast realized her danger and now struggled with all that was left of her ancient might. But the mountain was mightier still and held the dragon fast, caught in the lowest end of the great corridor, which was filling with icy cold waters from the snows of Gundabad.

No other creature is as fierce as a dragon in a pinch, and Veatrix the Golden was as fierce as any dragon that ever was. Her terrifying bellows and dreadful cries of wrath were loud beyond words to tell and carried through the mountain, out of its gates, and into the valley, where every creature for many leagues about could not help but pause and listen in startled wonder. The first light before dawn revealed churning steams and smokes rising from the gates of Gundabad. The tremendous dragon writhed wildly in her stone bonds and the mountain and the lands around shook with her desperate struggle.

"I told you this mountain's bones were rotten!" cried Gimli, as the companions splashed ahead. Indeed, the ill-planned tunneling of the goblins had weakened the excavations of the Longbeards and the natural caverns of the mountain. As the dragon's flailing and pounding wracked the earth, stone began to give way and great cracks and fissures opened between the vast halls. Elrohir lightly leaped away from a great arch of stone that came crashing down at his heels.

"We will never make it back to the mountain's peak!" the elf-knight shouted.

"The gates!" cried Aragorn. "We must fight our way out!"

"Then let us try the third gate on the second level," Gimli said as loudly as he could. "It will be defended less, and we are almost there!"

They passed the hall where the rushing waters of the reservoir still swiftly drained into the great corridor. Now they ran more swiftly to an intersection of halls and turned to the gate that Gimli had chosen. This led them now through the areas of the goblin stronghold that were more inhabited. Upon turning the corner, they immediately ran into the first orcs they had seen within Gundabad.

Anduril, the sword of the king, swept through the first two and Cairdur's blade slew another. At this point, as more goblins could be seen up ahead, Gimli and Elrohir set down the hobbits. The dwarf drew his battle-axe from its sheath on his back and Elrohir drew his sword, blazing with an ice blue rage at the nearness of the orcs.

The goblins saw them also, but were themselves seeking to escape and outpaced all in the company save Elrohir, whose rage was kindled at the very sight of the foul race. The elf-knight swiftly overtook the goblins and seemed almost to fly rather than run. His blade was radiant as the summer sky and the goblins howled and shrieked in terror at the sight. The company passed over their corpses, and Madrigal stifled a cry at the sight, but none would have heard her over the horrendous shrieks of the struggling dragon. The terrible cries of the worm were matched by the grinding of the mountain as it fell apart.

Onward they ran, not stopping now to survey the Palantir for safety, but speeding as swiftly as they could through one hall and then another. Always the blades of Elrohir and Aragorn went before, gleaming like sky and fire, hewing and slicing, felling the orcs they encountered like stalks of grain before a scythe. The mountain rumbled and shook with thunderous crashes, for gigantic slabs of stone within were falling against one another and breaking asunder in primordial tumult. Suddenly, at the last turn, they saw before them the silhouettes of fleeing goblins against the first light of dawn at the end of the tunnel.

They were the last creatures to flee the crumbling mountain. Every orc that had remained within, shirking the danger of the battlefield, now only wanted out of the calamity and were much more willing to take their chances in the field, rather than be buried alive! As they scurried and scrambled down the mountainside, one of them turned and saw Elrohir and Aragorn, with Gimli, Cairdur and the hobbits following after. The goblin called out in his uncouth tongue to his mates and they turned and cried aloud, some in fear and some with glee, for they saw the bright blades, but they also saw what they thought was easy prey, for there were many orcs gathered outside the gate.

But Elrohir was an elf-knight, one who had spent an age and more in errantry, the son of Elrond and Celebrian. His mother had been tortured in unspeakable ways by the goblins long ago, but ever the memory burned hot within him, and now he was wroth beyond the reckoning of the orcs. His strong clear voice cut through the cacophony of the mountain's ruin and the dragon's torment, and the name "Celebrian!" rose above the monstrous noise and then he was upon them. "Elendil!" cried Aragorn and his blade Anduril swept like a flame in the rising sun. Cairdur leaped into the fray to protect the back of his king while Gimli roared a challenge in his dwarven tongue and came nimbly down the stony face of the mountain like a dwarf in his youth. Furry was already firing arrows into the goblin crowd as fast as his hands could move.

But Furry heard another noise with his keen hobbit ears, a different rumble than the goaning and grinding sounds of breaking stone coming from deep within Mount Gundabad. This growing roar came from outside the mountain and from above. Maddie turned to see why Furry stared speechlessly behind them and saw a great avalanche of snow and stone tearing down the slopes and cliffs straight for them! She screamed as high and as loud as only a hobbit lass can, and first the goblins, who were facing that way, and then her friends, who were facing the goblins, all looked up the mountain and saw the rolling death from above.

That would have been the end of their stories, except that Rondramehir, King of the Eagles of the Misty Mountains, had been circling the peak of Gundabad at dawn, when the quaking and breaking began. This noblest and greatest of birds had eyes sharper than any living creature's and so he saw the avalanches as they began to fall and he saw the goblins as they evacuated the mountain. This he thought amusing for they fled right into the path of the crashing rock and snow! Then he saw the bright blades and the familiar shapes of the rangers, elf, dwarf, and even the small hobbits, and was amused no more. Crying aloud in the keen language of the great birds, Rondramehir commanded the eagles that flew with him to stoop down from the sky like lightning. So did the eagles rescue King Elessar and his friends from death on the slopes of Gundabad. Madrigal did not have time to draw another breath before she found herself snatched up in sharp claws and lifted high into the breaking dawn.

"Do not squirm so, lest I drop you!" warned the eagle. Madrigal was twisting in the iron grip of the bird so that she could see the mountain. As she looked, the sides of Gundabad were cast down in the tumult and the cloud of its destruction threatened to swallow the northern sky. But the high winds blew fast and clean and gradually Maddie could still see the peak atop the central core of the mountain, still gleaming high in the dawn sky amid the ruined slopes. Gundabad was no more. Only a tall sharp spire of jagged rock remained and the elves renamed it Carag Amlug, or, as the hobbits called it, The Dragon's Tooth. Veatrix the Golden lay crushed at the root of the mountain and never moved again.

At last, the hobbit lass turned away from the ruin of the mountain and looked down into the valley to see the armies she had left behind only a day before. Madrigal could hardly draw breath as she took in the sight. A terrible battle had been fought and the ground was dark with blood. The shining swords, mail, and helms of the allied armies gleamed in the dawn, and they seemed a great glittering island in a lake of swarming goblins. From the royal pavilion, there rose a foul black smoke into the sky.

***

You are probably wondering as much as Maddie what had happened on the battlefield so let us take up that part of the story where we left it.

Celeborn saw that the young dragons were avoiding the elven archers by following the dragon that bore Alatar the Black ever over the men and dwarves. The wizard was hurling enchanted spears into the ranks of soldiers in the trenches and the dragons followed with hot sulphurous fires that burned all in their wake. Now the elf lord ordered his archers to disperse throughout the field, so that the young dragons could not fly over any part of the besieging host without risking elvish arrows.

But as fast as elves can run, dragons can fly faster, even small ones, and from the high vantage of his black-armoured dragon, Alatar saw the movement of the elves and decided to assault the royal pavilion before elven arrows could defend it. As the ranger Cairduin lay dead at the feet of Arwen Undomiel, the wizard led the young worms in a diving attack from on high, down to where the leaders of the forces were gathered.

They were arguing at that moment, and perhaps this discord was also part of the wizard's attack, but it is enough that there were hard feelings between Legolas and his father King Thranduil. Legolas had returned to the besieging armies just as they themselves were besieged by a host of orcs and a swarm of dragons, and in this critical moment, he had once again brought with him uninvited, an old man claiming to be the tortured wizard Pallando the Blue.

"What do you mean by this treachery?" cried Thranduil sharply. "Again you fecklessly compromise the safety of your friends and relations?"

"Let them call it treachery or foolishness who will," cried Legolas bitterly, "when all has been said and done!"

"Then let less be said and more be done," said Celeborn sternly. "This war does not permit leisure for family quarrels!"

"Pah!" spat Thorin Stonehelm. "There are enemies enough and more, and this addled old man is added to our burden. I go back to the front!"

"Go then!" cried Thranduil. "Ever was the vision of the dwarves only as long as their noses! This elf I called my son has brought danger into our midst! Ere this wizard does us grievous harm, I will slay him where he stands!"

"I forbid it!" shouted Legolas, and as fast as eye could see, he nocked an arrow to his great bow of Lorien and took aim at his own father. Things might have taken a tragic turn, for the sword of Thranduil was drawn as the haughty elf king thought to slay the old man and perhaps his son as well.

At that moment, the field rang with the familiar horn cry of Buckland and the great folk suddenly realized that they were under attack from above. Faramir Took had ordered his son's plan put into effect, and the archers of the Shire had hidden themselves from sight as well as they could. The wizard had cleverly led his dragons away from the arrows of the elves, but now came down upon the back of his dragon in a steep dive toward the pavilion. He either had discounted or had not counted upon the bows of the hobbits in his calculations.

Turry peeked out of his concealment and waited until the dragons were almost upon them and he cried out to Master Merry Brandybuck, "Now!" whereupon the fat old hobbit blew upon the enchanted Horn of Eorl with all the wind he could muster. Old Pippin and Faramir stood up beside him with arrows nocked to guard the old fellow as the valley resounded with the call.

Up leaped the hobbits from their concealment and the arrows flew from their Tookish bows unerringly at the dragons as they passed. The wizard had not counted on this! Now, as dragons grow older, they grow tougher, especially if they can roll about grinding the metals and stones of a vast horde of stolen treasure into their scales. But these dragons were newly hatched. I daresay, that even so, they were terrible enough and being able both to fly and breathe fire, you wouldn't want to fight a young dragon at all, much less a swarm of them. But that was exactly what the hobbit archers did.

The sure aim of the young hobbits was rewarded with cries of surprise, anger, and pain from the dragons flying low over the hobbits' heads. Many of the dragons fell from the sky, and were set upon by brave men and dwarves nearby. Many soldiers were slain by the dying dragons, for such creatures are fearsome and deadly as long as they have any life in them at all. Some other dragons were merely wounded, and faltering in the air, tried to fly away and these were slain by the arrows of the elves. Still others were unscathed, and able to flee the field entirely, flying away to the north, where they escaped to trouble folk many, many long years later.

But there were some, the three biggest and boldest of the dragons, which were both unharmed and enraged. They did not heed the wizard, but instead flew back to visit the hobbits with a fiery revenge. Down they came, and this time would not be taken by surprise. Loud they cried and swept the entrenchments with fire and it was a terror to hear and to see. But Turry leapt to the top of his trench and as fast as his hands could move, put three arrows into the head of the lead dragon. Down it fell in flaming ruin, nearly crashing into the valiant Took. The young hobbit was overcome by the flames and fell back dazed into the entrenchment and lay there until he was found and revived after the great battle. Turry never recovered his mithril-edged arrowheads, but he never lost the fame that came to him in after days for slaying the young dragon.

The other two worms were also slain by the archery of the hobbits and by the ferocity of the Beornings and the dwarves, who made certain of the deed when the dragons hit the ground near their positions. But the hobbits of the Shire paid a ruinous cost. The dragons were hot in their fury and did not immediately fall to the arrows of the Tooks. Many bare-footed hobbits never walked again in the soft fields of their homes, for they fell to dragon fire in the Battle of Gundabad. Many more of them were wounded, indeed, were maimed for life, as were so many of the soldiers of the besieging armies. But many lived to proudly bear their scars, and these hobbits could always count on a free round and a hearty song at their local taverns for the rest of their long lives.

But there was one dragon that no arrow could touch, the one that bore Alatar the Black. They were clad alike in a cunning black armour of the wizard's design, for the wicked fellow well knew of the tenderness of young dragons, even if they themselves only learned by experience. The largest, most clever, and fiercest of the dragons agreed to be clad in the black metal plates and so was unharmed by the arrows of both elf and hobbit. Perhaps the precious mithril arrowheads given to the Took Twins by the dwarves might have pierced this armour, but Turry never got a chance to find out.

The wizard saw the destruction and desertion of his dragons, but was still determined to win the day. The worms had left the field smoking and reeking with the burning bodies of his enemies, and the great goblin horde still surrounded their entrenchments. And he still had the largest of the dragon brood and his enchanted spears. He brought the dragon back around so that he could overfly the royal pavilion again. This time, there would be nothing to stop his assault, for the hobbits were in disarray and the bows of the elves were not yet in position to threaten him.

As he drew near, he held aloft one of the great spears in his hand and began to pronounce his terrible spell. In the next instant he would have hurled it down into the center of the pavilion and killed all the great folk there assembled (not to mention poor little Ellie, and Prince Eldarion). It was just then that the first dreadful cries of Veatrix the Golden were heard, as she struggled against the mountain that pinned her fast. The terrible shrieks of the monstrous creature caused all heads to turn and all hands to stop. The wicked wizard paused in the recitation of his lethal spell for a single moment in his startlement.

That was his undoing. Down below, Pallando the Blue, tormented for an age of freezing darkness by treachery of his one time friend, never took his attention away from Alatar the Black. In that moment when all other ears harkened to the piercing death cries of Veatrix, and all other eyes looked to the ruin of the mountain, Pallando raised his gnarled staff in a withered hand, pointed it at Alatar, and spoke aloud the final word of the wicked wizard's spell.

The spear exploded in a great consuming ball of brilliant flame. Dragon and wizard fell together from a great height with a terrifying shriek of agony and fear and they were followed by a fiery trail to the hard ground. There, in the midst of the pavilion, their bodies were utterly burned to ashes in the raging fire that was an infernal combustion of the spell of the wizard and the heat of the young dragon. The sulphurous reek of their destruction rose high into the early morning sky and the foul black smoke of it lingered in impotent wrath above the battle before a wind blew it to nothingness in the east.

The ruin of both the wizard and the mountain and the death of so many of the dragons filled the goblins with dismay under the rising sun. As disheartened as were the orcs, still more emboldened were the hosts who had come to lay siege to Gundabad. With the death of Alatar the Black, it was as if a great weight was lifted from every shoulder and the hearts of the elves and men and dwarves rose with the sun.

The rage of the Beornings at the very sight of the goblins returned. In bear-form once again, they clambered over the top of the entrenchments and assailed the orcs gathered before them. The trumpets of the elves rang out and swiftly the elves also went over the top. Their arrows found every mark and the orcs ran from their bright steel and brighter eyes. The great voice of Thorin Stonehelm carried loud across the vale, and then the axes of the dwarves were parting goblin heads from goblin shoulders.

The orcs were pushed back on every side, fighting now for their very lives and their numbers were still as the sands of the sea. Their end came with the thunder of hooves, for the red flame of Anduril burned again in the morning sun as King Elessar led the cavalry in a charge that broke through the goblin lines. Finally, the tide of the battle had turned.

The grim day at last ended, and the few goblins that escaped the arrows of the elves, the axes of the dwarves, and the swords of the rangers, fell to the rage of the Beornings, who did not cease to hunt them at the end of day. But otherwise, with the setting of the sun and the rout of the last of the goblins, the fighting was over and the Battle of Gundabad had been won. Perhaps some orcs fled earlier in the day and survived, but for many long years after that day, none of the folk of Eriador or Rhovanion feared that any great host of goblins would ever trouble them again.

[Mithadan]

Chapter XXVIII

AT LAST TO HOME AFAR

I wish that I could say that all was happiness and joy, and that the entire host of the allied armies enjoyed a great celebration that night, but that was not to be. You must remember that many brave folk had died, and many more lay grievously burned and injured. There was little sentiment and less time to rejoice in the victory, for it was won at a terrible cost.

Many tears were shed that night as friends discovered bodies of friends, as fathers mourned over sons, and sons over fathers. And more were yet to die. As many as died in the battle, died that night and the next day of their injuries, and as many others took serious harm. Few were unscathed and no person on the field that day was not marked with the memory of the horrible battle for the rest of their lives.

***

Despite his fatigue, King Strider lent his aid to the healers throughout the host with the most severe cases. He spoke personally to each of his rangers, praising them for their bravery, remarking on the skill of their soldiery, and letting them know that their king greatly esteemed them. But Aragorn sent Aradhel especially to find the sons of Cairduin and to summon them to him. Cairmir was still a young lad, and the great excitement of the siege and the tremendous events of the days before were as nothing to him compared to the loss of his father. The boy had served as squire to his brother, Cairdur, and to his father in this campaign and had adored the dour ranger and was proud to be his son. Cairdur's face was set in the same grim lines that his father had customarily worn and he had manfully held his emotions in check for the sake of his younger brother. The king was stricken with compassion for the two and his eyes were bright with the dew of his sorrow.

"Your father was among the finest who ever served the House of Elendil," said the ranger's chieftain, "and if our house be the most noble among the houses of men, it is because of our people. With men like Cairduin among us, the king of such a people must ever be mindful of bravery and sacrifice such as his. Decency and honor demand that a king do what he may to redeem the lifeblood of the fallen with mercy and justice for our people, and this is the debt I owe. To Cairduin in particular do I feel this debt, and if you will let me, I will be as a father to you, and you will be as sons to me."

The young ranger and his little brother then fell weeping into the arms of their king. Perhaps some would think this unmanly (even if they dared not say so!), but such folk know little of fighting men, for emotions run high among mighty men of valour after times of great peril and loss. Even the bravest man on the field may find himself, years later, shedding unexpected tears when unbidden chance brings to mind the glorious exploits and tragic deaths of their comrades in arms.

King Strider ordered that the slain be honored quickly, lest the carrion birds and beasts despoil them. Nearly a quarter of the rangers would never go home again, and a green mound was raised over them near the hill at the western end of the valley, where Storwolos had been sent to his fathers. On that hill, many Dunlenders followed the late chieftain as their ashes rose to the heavens. A great barrow of stone was raised on the other side of the hill and there were interred the dwarves who had died.

A smaller mound was raised by the ranger's barrow over the hobbit archers of Tookland and Buckland, who fell defending the Queen. Half of the best young volunteers of the Shire remained near the field where they fell. Another small barrow was raised opposite the hobbit's barrow, beside the cairn of the dwarves, and there were lain the remains of the few elves who had fallen in the conflict. The valley was thereafter called Conath Imlad by the elves, the Vale of Lamentation. It became a sacred place for all that lived in Anor and such ill will as was held between the peoples of Eriador was ever after diminished.

A narrow chasm near the eastern pass of the valley was found and the carcasses of the goblin host were cast into it. The dwarves contrived a slide of rock and dirt to cover them, but it was long ere any could pass that way without a feeling of dread and nothing grew there in the lifetimes of any of the men or dwarves who came to use the pass in happier days.

Wagons were built for those who could not walk or ride and the day soon came when everyone was released to go to their homes, both new and old. With autumn waning, the Dunlenders knew they could not immediately settle the newly freed northlands, but they vowed to return in the spring with their families. The dwarves made ready to march back to Erebor, and the men of Dale would accompany them. The Beornings had already left for the northern vales of the Anduin, though Feorn had remained behind for a Council that the King had called.

The royal pavilion had been removed from the battlefield, for the burnt and blasted site of the black wizard's demise was loathsome to all. It was at this meeting that the kings and captains met to discuss the final disposition of the battle and the settling of affairs. Gathered around this circle and sitting or standing on the hills all round were those of the armies of elves and dwarves and men who came to witness this final council of the alliance. Aragorn spoke first.

"Now let us resolve all matters that lie between us," said the weary king, "for our enemies are vanquished, and only we ourselves can prevent the future happiness of our peoples. It is our duty now to secure this victory with goodwill between us all. I would start from the south with Ulfang of Dunland. What do you say?"

The barrel-chested Dunlender stood. He was covered from head to toe with cuts and scrapes that still wept red through his bandages if he moved much. His left hand was gone, lost to the burning maw of a young dragon. It was a poor trade for the dragon, for Ulfang's right hand wielded the notched blade of his father and severed the worm's head from its neck. The dragon head was ever after an heirloom of Ulfang's family and in after years became the sign of his house.

"I say for my people," said Ulfang, "that we have done all that was asked at the cost of many of our lives. I say that the king of the tall men has given his word that these lands shall be ours and our children's forever. I say that it is time now for the king to keep his promise."

"And I say," replied Aragorn, "that my promise will be kept. The lands known as the Entenmoors are now given unto the sons of Dunland who fought in this battle and to their children. You have purchased it with blood and with honor. You shall order your own affairs in the name of the king and we shall swear oaths of fealty to one another."

The young Dunland chieftain nodded his head and took his seat again, for he was still weak from loss of blood.

"And now let us hear from the east," said Aragorn. "What say you, Feorn, Master of the Beornings?"

The great bear-like man lumbered to his feet, towering over the assembled council, and said, "Nothing was promised me but the slaying of orcs, and I have had that in plenty. I ask for nothing more, unless there be more coming."

"There is more!" said King Thorin Stonehelm, standing to his broad feet. The great dwarf seemed to be one of the few who had taken no harm, though under the battle armour, which he still wore, none could say.

"Then let us hear from the north," said Aragorn. "What says the King under the Mountain?"

"That there is great wealth yet to be gained. We know that the horde of Veatrix lies buried beneath that mountain," the dwarf lord said, pointing at the great spire of the ruined mountain. "And I mean to find it! But though the treasure was built upon the labour of the dwarves, it has been won by the valour of our friends. The recovery may take many years and will be costly. I mean to charge these costs against whatever is recovered. But will all here say it is fair that the net profits be divided equally amongst all the armies?"

"I say that is fair," said Aragorn, and all of the other folk of the council also agreed. "And yet, the finding of the horde of the dragon may not be as difficult as you think. Our friends the eagles have espied the outpouring of the reservoir of Gundabad where it issued forth in a narrow ravine west of the mountain. There lies the exit of the tunnel used by Alatar to outflank our forces. The other end of that tunnel, if it is intact, is the cavern where the treasure lies. Since all are agreed, let the dwarves of Erebor recover the treasure, if they can, and be repaid from the horde ere it be divided between the Kingdom under the Mountain, the Woodland Realm, the Kingdom of Dale, the land of the Beornings, the veterans of Dunland, the Kingdom of Arnor, the folk of the Shire, and the elves of Rivendell."

All voices were raised in assent and the matter was so decided. Then the king resumed his rounds of the Council.

"Now let us hear from the Woodland Realm of Greenwood the Great," said Aragorn.

"I will speak briefly," said Thranduil. "For what I will say perhaps concerns you folk little, but I would say them before all. I have said rash words to Legolas, my son and heir, and would take them back if I could. Times are changing from the olden days, and I would rescind the exile of my son, imposed by my word and by my law." The wood elves of Greenwood cheered at this, for the son of the king was well loved, and some thought his exile harsh and undeserved.

Legolas Greenleaf stood to his feet and bowed before his father, but said, "I thank the king for what he has said, for he need not have humbled his pride. If my exile be lifted, then I thank him, but he need not rescind a law that served our people so well for so long. I broke the wise laws of our land in bringing Alatar the Black into our secret places, and it proved an unwise act. Some would say that I was under the spell of the wizard, and perhaps that was true. Yet I would not have my father hold me above the laws of the Woodland Realm. I will not return."

There was a murmur of voices around the Council and on the hillside, but Legolas continued. "The wizard's spells worked only upon what was already in our hearts, and perhaps good may come of confronting it. I know that many of our people feel as I do, and can no longer live in the confines of Greenwood, however great. I long for the sea and for what lies beyond. I would ask of you, my father, that you release any who would go with me."

Thranduil had remained standing as Legolas spoke, and the haughty elf's countenance hardened.

"Yea, Legolas!" said the proud elven king, casting an eye at the wood elves listening on the hillside. "You are full of years and tire of my rule, and seek a people of your own. If you do not accept my clemency, then let all in my realm who would submit to your rule go freely. But let them think well ere they choose for there is no return from the course you would set them."

"Nay, my father and king!" replied Legolas. "I do not seek to rule over any, but I will gladly lead any who will follow. There are many who will be happy in Greenwood for long to come, for your realm is beautiful, and your rule is not unjust. But even you, yourself, will weary of it one day and will answer the call of the sea."

"Then let it be as you have said," said Thranduil. "Where shall I send those who would flee these shores, now that all dangers are passed and life here will be gladsome?"

"I would ask a boon," said Aragorn. "In my kingdom of Gondor, there is a land called Ithilien. Let the elves of Greenwood have a haven there where they may tarry until they depart the shores of Middle-earth. The stay of the elves in that land would make of it a garden again, and ever their memory would live in Gondor for as long as Ithilien blooms."

"I thank my friend, the King of Gondor," said Legolas, bowing before Aragorn. Then turning, the slender elf knelt before his father and said, "I ask your blessings, my father and my king, on me and on all your people so that we may all be reunited in happiness on the far shore of the Straight Sea."

Thranduil, his haughty heart melting at last, placed his hands upon the bent head of Legolas and said, "That may be many long years, and I would that there be no stain to darken your heart." The King of the Woodland Realm then lifted Legolas up and they were reconciled to one another at last. The elves of Greenwood would think on these matters and many followed Legolas to Ithilien in the years that came after.

"Now," said Aragorn, "If there are no other matters before us, let us turn..."

"There is just one!" It was the soft high voice of the hobbit, Elediriel Cotton, who spoke. She was a timid girl and, despite all of the events of which she had been a part, was still in awe of the great and noble folk gathered in the Council.

"Do you speak for the hobbits of the Shire?" the king asked with a wry smile.

"N-n-no, sir," said Ellie. "But you promised me that you would grant my request, and this seems the right time."

"Indeed it is," said Aragorn. "It was your hand that rescued Eldarion, my son and heir, from the hand of Alatar the Black. I promised to grant whatsoever you asked, and if it is within my power, I am bound to redeem my word." Now this was the kind of promise that many kings in later days lived to regret, for not all folk are reasonable when making a claim upon the word of a king. This has sometimes proven especially troublesome when such claims were made in the presence of other great folk of the world. But Aragorn knew well enough that his word was safely pledged to the young hobbit lass and did not fear anything that she might ask.

"Well, sir," Elediriel said, "I have a problem, and it seems a light matter among all these high purposes but only the King and Queen can help me!"

The king smiled and held his hand out to Arwen Undomiel, who took it lightly and smiled warmly at her hobbit handmaiden. "What help we can give you, we will," said the queen.

"Well, I miss my mother and our little home terribly, but I do not wish to leave the service of my Queen," she said.

"And there is another matter!" cried Turgon Took, standing to his bare feet with his arm in a sling and bandages on his head. "Go on, Ellie, ask them!"

The bookish hobbit girl shyly smiled and said, "Turry has asked for my hand in marriage, and, well, --if it's all right with everyone-- we want to be married in Rivendell."

At this, Fingon Took received a sharp elbow to his ribs from Madrigal Brandybuck, and he was quickly on his furry feet standing by his brother. "And Maddie and I are getting hitched, too!"

At this, Faramir Took shouted with joy and grabbed both of his sons while saying something about their mother and how pleased she would be, while old Merry and Pippin crowded round the hobbit tweens and all the hobbits on the hillside cheered. The smiling king exchanged a look with Celeborn, who nodded in assent. Then Aragorn stood again and raised his hand until all of the commotion had settled.

"Lord Celeborn is agreed, and I know of no reason why these hobbits should not be given a matrimonial ceremony in Rivendell. We shall make the arrangements soon. And as for your matter, Elediriel," the king said, looking now at his queen, "I expect that Prince Eldarion will spend his childhood in Rivendell and that your Queen will often have need of her handmaiden from the Shire. There is room enough for Mrs. Cotton to join you there, if she and your husband-to-be are willing."

"I would ask something as well," said Arwen. The beautiful queen stood then to face the king.

"The Queen of Arnor and Gondor need only name her desire," said Aragorn.

"But what I now ask is not yours to grant," said Arwen, who then turned to where the hobbits still stood. "My handmaiden would be happier, I think, if she had friends from her home to be company for her. I would ask Madrigal Brandybuck and Fingon Took if they would consider living for a time in Rivendell near Elediriel Cotton and Turgon Took after they are married there."

"Oh Queen Arwen!" cried Maddie. "Of course we will! Thank you ever so much!" Furry had nothing to say about the matter, or at least wasn't quick enough to speak his mind, but didn't really seem opposed to the notion.

"Now," said Aragorn, "If there are no other matters before us, I would like to..."

"There is one, King Strider!" cried Pippin Took. The old hobbit stepped forward then. "I am growing old and am ready to give my son Faramir, here, my duties as right Thain of the Shire. I should like leave to see his namesake, the Steward of Gondor, and report to the Tower Guards of Minas Tirith again ere I grow too old to make the journey." There was an astonished murmur from the hobbits at this word, for while Faramir had already taken up much of the work of the Thain, none of them could remember a time when Old Pippin had not held the position. They were both shocked at the idea of Thain Peregrin leaving the Shire, but of course they were happy for Faramir. But there was one more surprise.

"I have something to add to that!" said Merry Brandybuck. "I'll be giving up the mastery of Brandy Hall to Maddie's father. He did a fine job getting the produce of the Shire to Bree to send up here to Gundabad, and it's high time he took over for me. King Eomer of Rohan is waiting to see me! Besides, this old rogue will need my company on the way to Minas Tirith, if he ever expects to make it!"

"You do not need my leave for any of these things, but you have my blessing," said Aragorn dryly. "And now, I believe, that is all of the matters that lie between us. So, let us turn at last to the West and take up the matter of our friend, the wizard Pallando the Blue." At this, the old man, now dressed in fine elven robes that captured the colour of the sky, stepped forward to stand before the king. His long white hair and beard were neatly groomed and his eyes were no longer mad. His countenance was kindly and wise, and though he was not crowned, he looked more a king than the tall lean ranger who stood facing him.

"There is nothing that I would not grant you, but there is little enough that we can offer you," said the king. "I give you leave, though you do not need it of me, to pass whithersoever you will as you seek healing and rest. I can only offer you our blessings and our gratitude." The tall grey-headed king then knelt before the old man, who bent his own snow-wreathed head and wept in gladness. No words were spoken. Indeed, the old man had said nothing since the battle and never came to speak often or much as long as he remained in that land, but a profound sense of the destiny that had touched them all was felt and a vision came to the minds of all who were gathered round. As if in a vaguely remembered dream, they seemed to see a glorious valley of ethereal light inhabited by brilliant beings of great power and noble purpose. Then, with the speed of waking, the sights and sounds of Middle-earth returned to their minds, and the council was ended.

***

Autumn was fine and cool, with that crispness in the air that made travel pleasant and the days a joy. But everyone only wanted to get home as quickly as they could, for Autumn passes soon enough into Winter, when travel is not as comfortable, and there was not a person in all the host who did not want to return to the familiar faces of their loved ones and the simple ordinary lives they had lived before.

The hobbits took leave of the elves and rangers as swiftly as was fitting and made haste to return to the Shire. They had company along the way, for Pallando the Blue made known that he desired to return to the Blessed Realm from which he had been sent. King Strider himself rode with them on their way to the Grey Havens and he was accompanied by the young ranger Cairdur and his brother and squire, Cairmir, as well as Legolas and Gimli.

Ellie had time during the siege and on the journey home to rewrite her journal, consulting with her friends (and her betrothed!) to set matters down as they had happened. This kept the bookish hobbit lass quite busy, but not too busy for another climb with her friends to the observation platform on the roof of the watchtower of Weathertop.

This time, they arrived in the daylight and the sight around them was splendid. From the great height (Turry could not convince Ellie for any reason to look over the side!), they could see the Blue Mountains far away, where many of Gimli's relatives still dwelt, and the dark line of the forests at their feet and the blue bay of Lindon where Aragorn said was harboured a last fleet of elven ships, left behind by Cirdan the Shipwright, to await Celeborn and the elves of Imladris.

"Not the last," said Legolas, "only the last built by Cirdan on these shores. Another will sail one day from the mouth of the Anduin, though smaller in size, if not in number."

"Would that I could go, too," sighed Gimli.

"Perhaps you shall," said Legolas.

"Let us not speak of it," muttered the dwarf. Perhaps he thought that a dwarf would not be permitted sight again of Galadriel ere he died, and he feared the breaking of his heart if he should try and be denied. It was many years after that day before Legolas took sail, long after nearly all of those who first followed him from Greenwood to Ithilien had already sailed the Straight Sea. Some say that he tarried until sure that no others of the Woodland Realm would leave Middle-earth in that age. Some believe that he waited until Aragorn breathed his last. But some also say that the Silvan wood elf Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, tarried for the sake of Gimli the Renowned, son of Gloin, dwarf of the House of Durin, and together they sailed beyond the bending of the world.

"There's the Tree!" cried Maddie, who keenly desired to return home for a time. "It's the only one like it outside of Lothlorien!"

"It is indeed a mallorn-tree," said Legolas. "I have desired to see it since you first told me of it."

"Oh! I can't wait to show you," said Maddie. Furry cleared his throat.

"That is," said Maddie, "WE can't wait to show you! It's just wonderful!"

Old Gimli wiped a tear from his eye, though he could not see any of the distant things the others spoke of. But in the eye of his mind, he clearly saw the mallorn-trees of Lothlorien and the Lady of the Golden Wood. An old man's hand rested upon the broad shoulder of the dwarf, and Pallando said words that none save perhaps Aragorn understood. Gimli was strangely comforted all the same.

***

The great dwarf's sorrow was further assuaged in Bree when he was forced to admit that the Wizard's Brew at the Prancing Pony was indeed better than the best dwarven beers, but said that it didn't count because it had been enchanted. It was recorded that Gimli drank quite a lot of it all the same!

There was only one other noteworthy event before the party reached the Shire, and that occurred as they reached the gates of Buckland an hour or so after the sun had set. The party stopped and informed the gatekeepers that the Master of Buckland and the Thain of the Shire had returned. Merry did not mention that with them was the King of Arnor and his Rangers, as well as the wizard Pallando the Blue, and the heroic archers of Tookland.

"But, Master Merry! Thain Pippin! Them are Big Folk! It's against the law!" said old Tubby Burrows. The old fellow's high voice trembled and cracked, but he was doing his duty as he thought right.

"That's right," agreed young Digger Hardbottle. "It's against the law!"

"Well said, Gatekeepers of Buckland!" the grey-headed king brushed back the hood of his cloak and laughed. An elfstone set in a silver fillet upon his brow gleamed by the torch lights, and his countenance was kindly and regal. The other travelers drew aside as his great golden horse stepped lightly to the gate. Looking down from his noble mount at the gatekeepers he said, "I am Elessar Telcontar, King of Arnor and Gondor, and it is by my order that Men may not set foot within the bounds of the Shire. You do well to uphold my law! But though my subjects are forbidden to wear the crown of the king, yet may the king himself do so. I pass through this land on King's Business, and these other folk are with me."

"Good King Strider!" cried old Tubby. The gaffer paused in perplexity for a moment and then sprang for the gate.

"King Strider!" cried young Digger at the same time. The Junior Keeper of the North Gate of Buckland rushed to open the latches, collided with the Senior Keeper of the North Gate of Buckland, and both were knocked sprawling into the road. The nervous hobbits fumbled over each other but did manage to open the gates to allow the party to pass. And surely they would have passed into the Shire at that very moment, but there was another important matter that had to be settled. Now, I'm sure you know exactly what the tweens had forgotten, but all of the events of their great adventures had completely driven the matter out of the little heads of the young hobbits.

"Halt!" cried old Pippin. Even the king checked his steed, as the old fellow's pony trotted ahead of the rest to block the road. "Do you gatekeepers not remember that four of these are exiles and may not return to the Shire or the lands thereabout without my pardon?"

"I had completely forgotten, Thain Took!" said old Tubby, with a laugh. "Shall I call the Sheriffs for you?"

"That won't be necessary my good hobbit," said Pippin, "But, since you cannot permit peace-breakers and exiles past this gate, something must be done! So, by the power vested in me by the King of Arnor, I hereby pardon Elediriel Took for instigating an incident at the Green Dragon in Bywater on the evening of September 23, 1482. I do also hereby pardon Masters Turgon and Fingon Took for public misbehaviour in this same incident, and I further pardon Mistress Madrigal Brandybuck for assaulting a shopkeeper in a public accommodation. You are exiles no more, and are free to enter the Shire!"

"Race you!" cried Madrigal to Furry. Madrigal's amber mare, Cider, leapt as if chased by wolves and carried her mistress down the road to Brandy Hall, pursued closely by Furry's black pony, Thunder.

The other hobbits laughed, as did the Big Folk who were with them, and so they passed into the Shire and were on their way.

***

There is really little more to tell. All that happened afterwards to the young hobbits were only matters of happiness. It is a strange thing that reading of the joy of others is not nearly as interesting as tales of sorrow and conflict, but that is the way of things, and so we must bring this story to an end.

The company of heroes passed with the wizard through the Shire, past the Tower Hills, and on to the Havens of Lindon. A ship was waiting there for the old man, and many elves lined the docks to say their farewells to friends and relations who were leaving, and to catch a glimpse of the Blue Wizard, last of the Five whom had come across the Straight Sea so long ago. Before he boarded the vessel, he stooped by the shore and took up a small stone in his hand. He smiled at Elediriel especially and was clearly thankful to Aragorn and to Legolas for helping him find his way home.

They watched the ship sailing away into the West, and before it passed from view, Ellie thought she saw the wizard hurl the stone he held high into the air. It burst into a brilliant rainbow of lights and slowly drifted, fading, into the sea. A musical sound like a distant chime reached the shore as the magical flare passed from sight, and the last wizard left the shores of Middle-earth.

***

King Strider and the Big Folk with him did not return through the Shire, but instead travelled on the newer road that passed from the Blue Mountains where some of Gimli's kin still dwelt to the shores of Lake Evendim and to the king's castle at Fornost. Legolas and Gimli went with them to enjoy the hospitality of their old friend and to see the great new castle. They stayed briefly there until parting in Bree, when Aragorn returned to Rivendell and Legolas and Gimli set out for Rohan.

Meriadoc, Master of Buckland, and Peregrin, Thain of the Shire, did not stay another year in the land of their births. Word came from Rohan that the venerable King Eomer, son of Eomund, desired to see his old friend, Master Holdwine. So old Merry and Pippin gave their offices to their sons in 1484 and set out in fair weather on the Old South Road to Tharbad and beyond, through Dunland and the Gap of Rohan, to Edoras, where Eomer awaited them. The old fellows missed the marriage of their grandchildren in Rivendell, but did not lack for things to see. Along the way to Edoras, they stopped to see the wonders at Helm's Deep, where they were joined by Gimli and Legolas. The dwarf never forgot a debt and had eagerly held the wood elf to his promise to revisit the Glittering Caverns of Aglarond.

Of course, back in the Shire, Mrs. Cotton had been overjoyed when Ellie indeed had brought home a husband (at least a husband-to-be, which is not quite the same thing, as brides-to-be always discover). The old dear was a little reluctant to leave the little hole that her late husband had built, but as soon as her mind was set, she looked forward with great anticipation to an old age in Rivendell, proudly seeing her young girl serving their Queen, and being the grandmother of the many little baby hobbits she expected Turry and Ellie to provide her. She was not disappointed in that and died some years later with a smile upon her lips.

As soon as arrangements could be made, the Took Twins, Madrigal, and the Cottons were to set out for Rivendell. But the younger hobbits could not resist a last visit (at least for several years) to the Green Dragon. This was a resort of quite a few of the archers of Tookland, and their cheers were almost thunderous as the Twins and the girls came into the hobbit tavern. Nothing would do but for all of their exploits to be recounted, and for the ale and beer and song to flow like a spring.

An old gaffer in the back called for Ellie to give a poem, for if the hobbits did not quite remember her last effort in the tavern, they certainly remembered its consequences.

"Yes! A poem!" shouted another old fellow.

"Or a song!" shouted another hobbit.

"No, a poem!" shouted the first old gaffer. "'Bandit' Sandyman cheated me on the price of a shovel, and I want someone to break his nose again!"

There was a great noise of laughter and delight in the hall, but Ted Sandyman only showed the top of his prematurely balding head and the red tips of his ears, as he stared into his beer and said nothing anyone could hear.

"As a matter of fact, I have written a bit of a poem," Ellie said. "I suppose someone could make a song of it, but I'm not very good at singing." The shy lass had come a long way, and even if she would not sing for the tavern full of hobbits, she could now at least recite her poems without (much) fear.

When darkest days come to the land
and sword is drawn by kingly hand,
when wizards come from realm of dread,
and dragons hatch on golden bed,
who comes along to save the day
(though they seldom know the way,
and never seek a hero's fame,
prefering others play that game)?

It is the halflings of the Shire
who rise above the troubles dire
and find a way, as if by fate,
to overcome the shadow's hate.
The luck of the hobbits, I would say,
is what we need to save the day!
It comes to those who do what's right
though it means a hopeless fight!

Our darts are sharp, and our swords are keen
our aim is good, and our slings are mean.
We'd rather drink an ale, it's true,
or even have a beer or two!
But dragon fire and goblin foe
and wizard spell and giants slow
don't wait upon the supper table
so we must do what we are able!

So, when the darkness seeks to end
the lives and loves of folk and friend,
be like the halflings; don't give in!
Despair just lets the shadows win.
Luck comes to naught with a failing heart:
what victory's won right from the start?
When all seems lost what is there to lose?
The luck of the hobbits is yours to choose!

The poem (which I'm sorry to say was better received by the Big Folk outside the Shire) was born of discussion on the road that Turry and Ellie had about faith and fate. Ellie still contended that Baggins' Day had come and gone right through the battle, and though no one had celebrated, surely no one could now doubt that it was the luck of the hobbits that had come through again. In after years, before the great events of those days were altogether forgotten, when the hobbits still celebrated the archers of Tookland, and the Battle of Gundabad, it was much sooner forgotten that some had once celebrated the birthday of one Bilbo and one Frodo on that day. But it was remembered by the Big Folk, as long as the Little Folk were remembered at all, that to have one of them with you was a lucky thing indeed.

Applause was scattered and polite, and since there was no fight brewing afterwards (not even Ned Sandyman had anything derogatory to say), the evening ended well enough for the hobbitry of Bywater. As for Ellie, Turry, Maddie and Furry, they took leave of the Green Dragon rather early so that they could walk to The Hill and spend some time together under The Tree before leaving the Shire for Rivendell. They stayed up rather late, I must say, though what they talked about for such a long time has not been recorded.

The kindly sun rose the next morning to see the young hobbits and Mrs. Cotton on their way to the elven valley with no few number of the Shire folk as well. I'm sorry to say that there is no record of anyone from the Sandyman family attending the nuptuals. But they were not missed for never before and never again had so many hobbits come to Rivendell! The weddings of the Twins to Elediriel and Madrigal were everything their mothers could have hoped and more. A great enchantment still lingered there while the elves yet dwelt in the Last Homely House. The songs of the elves and the bells of the dell were long remembered by the hobbits, who never tired of telling younger ears in later years about the wonderful place. The important folk of the Shire were awed by the hidden valley of the elves, and by the tall rangers who guided them there and back again.

Serving as handmaidens to Arwen Undomiel was each day a wonderful thing, and Ellie and Maddie learned much that they eventually brought back with them to the betterment of the Shire. As for Turry and Furry, there was an endless wealth of crafts to learn of the elves and much of the arts of war to learn from the rangers. In later years, the hobbits (no longer in their tweens) paid a last visit to their now quite elderly grandfathers. Old age finally did catch up with Merry and Pippin in far away Minas Tirith in the Kingdom of Gondor, and the younger hobbits did not return to the Shire until after the old gallants breathed their last and were entombed with honor among the great of Gondor. In time, when Turry became Thain Turgon, and Maddie became the Mistress of Buckland, the Shire benefited greatly from the things they learned in the realms of elves and of men.

I suppose I should also say that the young hobbits found married life, even in Rivendell, to be more joy and work than they had dreamed, and that the raising of young hobbits was much more adventure, confustication, and bebotherment than they had ever imagined. Which is to say that they lived very happily ever after.

The End