The Secret of Frywald by Ysilme

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Three

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Three

At midnight, the Elves set out again. The sky was overcast, with clouds painting distorted shapes on the ground as they passed the waning moon. Like fleeting shadows, the Elves passed unseen and unnoticed along the edge of the forest. Silence hung over Frywald when they arrived, although a strange, faint, glow hung above the far side of the village.

Glorfindel was uneasy; an odd sense of premonition had come over him. It was of no use, of course; they would not change their plans for something so fleeting,  and with still no word from Arveldir, their aim was no longer only to investigate the rumours, but to find out what had happened to their comrades. Perhaps all he was sensing was the danger of their mission, which was, after all, only to be expected.

They parted at the north-western corner of the village, and Thranduil, Bregedaer and Norphen vanished silently into the night.

“Come along!” Glorfindel whispered, and equally silently, they crept towards the cliff under the shadow of the wall. It took them longer to get down the cliff this time, with just some small crevices to hold onto, but soon everybody was safely down, and they separated again as discussed. Hatholdir and Celechanar went to follow the river to the pastures, while the other two followed Glorfindel along the bottom of the cliff.
As expected, no animals were left outside, and they passed unnoticed through the orchards and gardens. With the help of steep stairs hewn into the cliff, climbing up to check the gates was easy. The first three turned out to be sturdy, locked, wooden gates with no means to enter short of breaking them down. The fourth could be only reached by a rickety ladder and consisted of an iron lattice with a simple lock. Glorfindel approached carefully, not knowing what lay behind, but closer inspection revealed some chamber or passageway and no immediate danger of discovery.

Malen, who was good with locks, examined the gate. “I can pick this easily,” he whispered. “Shall I?”

“Not yet,” Glorfindel answered, “we might get stuck behind another sturdy door. I will see the last door first, and what lies further on.”

“All right.”

Malen went down again first, and they continued along the bottom of the cliff. The fourth door, again on top of hewn stairs, lay just beyond the last orchard and turned out to be the easiest accessible. It was another sturdy wooden gate, but, much to their surprise, it was unlocked.

“They forgot this one,” Lónaer said, but Glorfindel shook his head. This was too easy; he would have sworn that the gate had been left this way on purpose.

“Not likely,” he answered, “but still, it gives possible access. Let us find the others first and see what they found out.”

So down again it was once more. Keeping under the cover of the last fruit trees, Glorfindel sent out some owl calls. They were answered immediately, and it did not take long for Hatholdir and Celechanar to join them again.

“Good to have you back. Did you have any problems?”

“No. The buildings are mostly sheds and workshops, with one or two stables. There was a guard at a fire close by, but he will not bother us.”

Glorfindel frowned, but Hatholdir continued with a grin: “Just knocked unconscious, although he will be nursing a bruised jaw for a while.”

“Good. What else did you find?”

“Nothing much. Horse pastures, as expected, a couple of lean-tos among the trees, but the wood is essentially just that. A few ancient fir trees, but mostly it is coppice with rowans, blackthorn, and hazel. Firewood for the village, by the looks of it.”

“I see.”

“There was something odd, though - that glow we saw from the far side? There is some light up there, but you get to see it only from some angles. I think something is happening up there, outside the walls.”

Glorfindel mulled this over and checked the position of the moon. The agreed-upon candle-mark had nearly passed without news from Thranduil. Should they wait even longer for the others to join them, or continue with their investigation? The area Hatholdir indicated was on top of the drop, but must be outside the village walls. If Thranduil had managed to get into the village - and Glorfindel hoped very much that he did - they would likely miss each other.

“Hatholdir, you will take Lónaer and go back to the fourth door. It is unlocked, which might have been done on purpose, so please be extra careful. Make sure it is not an ambush, enter, and advance into the village. Your task is to first find Thranduil and his men, and update him on our findings and intentions.”
Lónaer, the only Greenwood Elf in his group, would find his king and brethren easier and faster, as he was familiar with their strategic thinking.

“If you cannot find Thranduil, or if you do and he has no need of you, search for Arveldir or any of his company, and aid them if necessary. The rest of us will climb up here to investigate. Either we will find a way inside from there, or we will go back and follow you. We will communicate by owl call, as usual.”

“Aye, sir.” Hatholdir nodded to Lónaer and vanished into the darkness.

Glorfindel looked at Malen and Celechanar. “Off we go, then. Malen, you go first, your dark hair is harder to spot than ours.”

This time, there were neither stairs nor ladder to get up the cliff, and the rock was crumbling in parts. The climb might have been impossible for a Man, but did not prove to be difficult for an Elf, although they needed to take their time and be careful. Celechanar muttered something about Elves not being goats, and then they were up, lying flat in the grass and trying to make sense of what they saw.

They were indeed on the outside of the village, on a narrow meadow between the wall and the cliff. Along the latter ran the remains of a crumbling, low, wall, fortified in parts by a wooden fence, indicating the customary use as a pasture. At present, though, most of the available space was occupied by a massive form nearly as high as the wall.

Here it was, the reason for the reports, the big mystery: the dragon.

For it was indeed a dragon, although all they could discern was one huge hind leg and the enormous tail stretching out to their left. It was an enormous creature, looming menacingly, and so dark it barely stood out against the sky. It did not look at all like any other dragon Glorfindel had seen, but he had to admit that he had never been so close to one before, nor had he ever seen one resting. The creature was lit by a strange glow from above which seemed to hover over it; the same glow they had seen from the other side, and Hatholdir from below. By the dim light they could not make out further details, but an occasional glitter on the skin gave a rough idea of the shape and size. The skin also moved slightly, like that of a breathing creature.

Glorfindel took a deep breath. So it was a living dragon after all. Where had it come from? What did it want here? Why did nothing add up, as Thranduil had outlined so well? At least it seemed to be sleeping. By the darkest pits of Thangorodrim, what have I got myself into?

“Sir?”

Celechanar’s puzzled look made Glorfindel realise that he had uttered the last words aloud, in Quenya. He shook his head.
 
“Nothing.”

“Is this really a dragon? I mean, a living one?” Celechanar’s voice quivered, Glorfindel did not know if from fear or awe. Maybe both.

“I fear so, yes. I confess I did not believe it possible.”
Something about it was odd, though; something he should know, but he could not place it. I am just nervous - no, afraid. I am afraid. This is not a Balrog, but close enough …

“What do we do now? Get a closer look?” Malen’s eyes glittered excitedly.

“By the stars, no, that would be insane! That - creature - might be sleeping, but do not be misled by its size: they are very agile and can move extremely fast. I have seen men seized and swallowed in the blink of an eye.”

Malen whistled soundlessly. “Like a lizard.”

“A very big lizard, but yes.” Glorfindel grinned without humour. His companions were both too young to have ever encountered a dragon, unlike him, who had met them in battle.
“We have seen enough for the moment. Now that we know what we are dealing with, we need to find the others and compare our findings. We need to find a way inside the village.”

“There is another door up here.” Celechanar had crawled closer to the tail and now stood, looking over it.
“We just need to get over that tail.”

“Let us try around first.” Glorfindel got up and moved, crouched and soundless, towards the end of the massive body part. But the end was hanging over the edge of the cliff, and still coming up to his thigh.”

“We have to jump over it. Be careful, do not get too close so it will not sense the movement!”

The three of them jumped the tail with ease and then paused, anxious to see if they had been discovered. Nothing moved, though; the left hind leg hid them well, but also prevented them from seeing anything beyond. The gate was now within easy reach, another sturdy wooden one. Malen made short work of the lock, and then, finally, they were inside.

Glorfindel pushed them into the shadow of the next building and nearly had a heart attack when a hand gripped his shoulder. He spun around, drawing his dagger in a fluid motion and pressing it against the throat of his attacker.

“The Valar be thanked, it is you!”

“Bregedaer!” Glorfindel nearly dropped his dagger with relief. “Where is Thranduil? Have you found -”

“Not here,” Bregedaer whispered urgently and drew Glorfindel along, deeper into the shadows below the wall, and into a small lean-to. It smelled of goats, and a soft bleating confirmed the occupants’ identity, although they did not seem to mind their visitors. Somebody closed the door.

It was too dark to see more than dim outlines, but Glorfindel could smell a faint whiff of blood and hear his lieutenant’s accelerated breathing.
“Are you injured? What has happened? Have you met Hatholdir?”

“It was an ambush. They were waiting for us, they wanted the king. I could escape and hide, but they captured him.”

Glorfindel cursed. “Do you know where he was taken? And what about the other - Norphen, right?”

“They got him as well. I tried to follow them, but was knocked down, and lost them. All I know is that they left the village.”

“Shit.” Glorfindel worked his jaw. What now? This was getting worse than he would have dared to imagine.
“Did you see Hatholdir or Lónaer, or any of Arveldir's men?” he asked again.

“I am sorry, no. I tried to find out where they were taking the king, but the door was guarded, so  I figured it would be best to find one of you.”

“Good thinking. We will stay together from now on, too many of us are already unaccounted for. Bregedaer, are you well enough to keep up?”

“I am fine, just a black eye and a cut to the arm.”

“Good. We are first going back along the wall, I want to find Hatholdir and Lónaer, and then see what happened to Thranduil. Will you find the door again they used, Bregedaer?”

“They left through the main gate. The gate is closed, but a small door within was open, with bright light shining on the outside. This was where I could escape.”

The bright light. That sounded like a fire, a large one. At least it was unlikely to be dragon fire. For one, that would not burn steadily, and then the roaring sound of a dragon spitting fire was hard to miss. They had been close enough most of the time to have heard it. It was anything but reassuring, though, that Thranduil was kept anywhere within the range of a dragon’s head.

~oOo~