The Secret of Frywald by Ysilme

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Four

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Four

The four Elves crept out again and moved quietly through the shadows, uttering soft owl calls at every corner in the hope of establishing contact with their missing brethren.

Glorfindel breathed a sigh of relief when, finally, their call was answered. Still, this might yet be another ambush, so he sent out a blackbird’s call first, and only continued when he heard the answering ‘zip’ of a song thrush. Only an Imladris warrior would know the exact sequence of bird calls they used to verify identity on such occasions.

“Good to see you again, sir,” Hatholdir whispered with a relieved grin when they finally met. “I was beginning to worry. How did you get in?”

“There is another small gate in the south-east wall. The dragon is there. Did you find Arveldir?”

“Yes. Wait - you said the dragon?”

“Yes, we found it. No time to explain, though, Thranduil has been captured,” Glorfindel whispered urgently. “We need to find him. Where are the others?”

Hatholdir cursed under his breath. “You had better come with us,” he said, “it is a long story.”

With a resigned sigh, Glorfindel followed him through various little lanes and passageways until they ended up in another stable. This time, it smelt of pigs.

“I do not believe this,” Malen muttered.

“Who is this?” a slurring voice asked softly. “’Thol, is that you?”

“Hush, yes, and I brought Glorfindel.”

Footsteps rustled through straw, and Glorfindel was gently tugged forward. It was too dark to see anything, but after a few steps he was drawn down onto his knees. He groped around until he found a body, sitting half-upright against some wooden structure.

“It is Cúnir, sir,” the slurred voice said, “I am so glad you have found us.”

Glorfindel found his shoulder and gripped it reassuringly.

“So am I, Cúnir. Do not worry, we will take care of you now.” Cúnir was the other Greenwood warrior that had been with Arveldir.

“They have been drugged,” Hatholdir explained in a low voice. “Cúnir is the least affected, he is responsive and reasonable, but still dizzy. The others are sleeping, or insensible. We better not them, for Cúnir says they were talking nonsense earlier and were quite loud.”

“I see.” Glorfindel took a deep breath. This was becoming absurd. What next? They had a dragon, an abducted king, and now also drugged warriors …

“You said insensible?”

“Elvedui has not come to since it happened,” Lónaer added, “and his breathing has stopped once. He seems to be stable now, though.”

Glorfindel cursed. “Best tell me all you know.”

Cúnir coughed and drank greedily from a flask somebody passed over to him.

“When we entered the village yesterday - was it yesterday? How much time has passed?”

“Yesterday,” Hatholdir confirmed.

“- well, everything was what you would expect from such a village. A few shops, an inn, people going about their business. We pretended to be travellers on our way back to Lindon from the east, and were directed to the inn. They gave us a room with four beds and brought refreshments, and from then on things started to get blurry.”

He coughed again. “I suppose it was lucky that I had torn my cloak earlier and was busy repairing it, so took only one bite from one of their pasties before I noticed the others behaving oddly. They started to talk funny and sway while standing, and saw things that were not there. The captain started to sing something bawdy, and the Imladris Elf, Amaron I think, giggled like a girl. It was then that I realised that they must have put something in the food, and then Elvedui collapsed. I tried to catch him, which was when I noticed that I was dizzy at well and could not walk straight. I think I fell down, too, for I was out for a while. When I came to again it was dark outside, and some funny people came and said they were to have some fun and we should come. I did not want to, but Arveldir ordered it. They took us outside, leaving Elvedui behind, and guided us down the street. The houses were weird, though; they had funny shapes and bright colours on them.”

“Were you forced to follow these people?” Glorfindel asked.

“I - I do not think so, but I cannot say. I fear I was not very clear in the head most of the time. I noticed some things, but in between there are only blurred colours. Sometimes I thought that I should refuse doing what they wanted, but I could not.”

“Probably better this way,” Hatholdir muttered. “Who knows what would have happened with you if they had realised you were not as drugged as they thought.”

“Do you think so?” Cúnir sounded relieved.

“Aye,” Glorfindel said. “But please continue.”

“They brought us to the dragon.” Cúnir swallowed. “I do not know where they are hiding it, for we did not see it before, but it is huge, and it is spitting fire and steam! We stood very close and were nearly burnt by the flames, and I was never before so afraid.”

“We have seen it, too,” Glorfindel said. “What happened then?”

“I do not know,” Cúnir admitted. “All I can remember are the flames and the snout with the gigantic teeth, and that I woke up later in our room at the inn. I was sick when I woke, and still dizzy. I tried to wake the others, but to no avail, they were sleeping too deeply. I think they have been given more of the drug, or something else, except for Elvedui, who was as before.” He sounded apologetic.

“You did very well, Cúnir,” Glorfindel reassured him. “Do not worry.”

“I think I slept again, but when I woke later, I remembered that we were to meet you. I thought it would be best to try to get out and find you by myself. The door was unlocked and unguarded, so I could just sneak out of the house. Hatholdir and Lónaer found me soon afterwards, and they brought us all here.”

“Thank you, Cúnir, that was very brave. You might have saved your comrades’ life as well as your own through your actions.”

“Where is aran Thranduil?”

Glorfindel grimaced. “I do not know at present, we are looking for him. But first we will get you all out of here, to safety.” Turning to Hatholdir, he continued: “Has anybody woken since you found them?”

“No. Cúnir has become more clear since we found him, though.”

“That is something at least.” Glorfindel got up and walked a few paces; by now, his eyes had adapted sufficiently to orient himself. They were getting from smoke to smother and back again, as it seemed. Two Elves missing, likely captured, one of them the king of the Greenwood, three more unconscious and all of them in a fortified village of Men without reinforcements or easy means to escape. Well, he had lived through worse, he supposed.

“All right, time for our next step.” He gave his best to sound confident to boost the general mood, although he felt anything but. “We have three unconscious, but six able-bodied, and one unfit but ambulant. Our first goal is to get Arveldir’s group to safety. However, as we do not know what has happened to king Thranduil and Norphen, we cannot afford to bring them back to the base camp and return, particularly not on foot. Any suggestions? I want them outside the village walls but as safe as possible.”

“What about the shacks at the bottom of the drop?” Malen asked. “That guard is soundly knocked out, and we can still bind and gag him. It is also far enough away to not attract attention should any of them awake and create noise.”

“Possible, but not ideal, if our only means of reaching them is that climb. But it certainly is an option.”

“We could just take them with us and leave them by the door to the ledge,” Celechanar offered. “There are some crumbled boulders which give some protection, but I think the place at the back of the dragon is safe enough.”

“At the back of the dragon?” Bregedaer sounded faint.

“Ah, you do not know yet,” Celechanar said. “At the western part of the village, there is a strip of meadow between the walls and the cliff. The dragon is there. We came up at its back, and remained unnoticed as the body hides everything behind from view. The meadow is too narrow for the beast to turn around, and while the tail certainly presents danger, one would be safe if out of its reach.”

Glorfindel pondered this. “We will do that. It is not ideal either, but preferable to having our comrades so far out of our sight. Off we go, then.”

~oOo~

The temperature had dropped when they were back outside, and the night was at the darkest hour. About two candle-marks until sunrise, Glorfindel estimated. Time was running out, they needed to hurry.

Getting their unconscious companions out of the village had proved to be more difficult than expected, as they had nearly been seen twice and needed to make various detours and lost their way once. The village had lain silent before, but now clearly something was going on. Odd, particularly for this time of the night, Glorfindel thought. But then, having a dragon at your doorstep was not exactly commonplace either.

Arveldir’s men were sleeping peacefully on the ground behind some boulders, guarded by Cúnir who was by now clear enough to keep them back should they wake. Following Malen’s suggestion, they had blocked the door with smaller boulders, so nobody would get at them from behind.

Glorfindel checked his weapons. Time to face the real challenge. Time to brave that dragon.

He decided to proceed along the crumbled wall at the cliff’s edge, hoping to remain undetected as long as possible, and perhaps even to surprise whoever was there. It was frustrating that they still had no idea with whom they were dealing, nor with how many. At least the dragon did not seem to have moved and looked just like before. But the air vibrated with tension, and he could hear a low noise that had not been there before.

“By the valar, what a monster!” Bregedaer closed up to Glorfindel as they approached the hind leg. “I always thought they were smaller.”

“They come in all sizes. I have seen even larger ones, but never up close. Most are smaller, but not less dangerous. Their fire is deadly no matter their size.”

They had rounded the leg, and Glorfindel froze as he heard voices. The light was also brighter than before, and he thought he heard the sound of a fire crackling close by. He signalled to the others to wait and carefully crept forward.

With unbelieving eyes, Glorfindel stared at the sight in front of him. He was at the flank of the dragon, and the size was every bit as intimidating as the rear end had suggested. The front leg was nearly as big as the hind legs, and beyond, he could just make out an enormous head, lowered to the ground. The skin looked like the darkest leather, glinting now and again in the soft light that came from above.

But now he could also see the source of that light, and understood what this was. A dragon, yes, though not alive, but man-made. A clever, ingeniously created construction, looking deceptively real, from the shape and size and the way the body and limbs were formed, down to the skin - no, the hull - and the claws on the legs. Except that there was a door in its flank which stood open, allowing free view inside. The whole thing was hollow, looking more like a dwelling than anything else, and a large fire burned in a stone-lined fire pit in the middle. This was also illuminating the clouds above, for there was no top.

Glorfindel was as shocked as he was amazed. What a curious, odd, contraption! He could not help but admire the artistry and skill that had gone into creating this, but what in the name of Mandos …

At first, he felt relief, for whatever this was, anything was better than dealing with a living dragon. But whoever was behind all of this had anything but good intentions, and might be every bit as dangerous, considering the effort that must have gone into creating this thing, and everything that had happened so far. He burned to know the reason behind all of this, but it would have to wait; the most pressing issue at hand was Thranduil. He now had a very good idea where the king of the Greenwood might be.

Retreating with utmost care, he gathered his men together and briefed them about the changed situation.

“Any suggestions, other than storm?”

Bregedaer shook his head. “There is no way we might get in there unnoticed, so we must act fast and try to overwhelm anybody in there as quickly as possible.”

Glorfindel agreed. “We do not know where Thranduil and Norphen are, and if they are inside at all. But it seems most likely. We have to find them quickly to not place them in even more danger.”

Everybody nodded their agreement.

“They might not expect anybody to enter from this side, though, or perhaps enter at all,” Celechanar offered. “Nobody from the village might be aware of this entrance to that thing, as it is unlikely somebody would pass here by chance. Certainly not from the front, for why should they wish to go past? And neither from the back - Malen said the lock had not been used recently.”

“At least something positive.” That was Lónaer.

“Let us do it, then, we will not win anything by waiting. Bregedaer, you and Lónaer focus on finding the king and Norphen, the rest of us will concentrate on overcoming the enemy ensure our retreat. When we have found the king, we will get out again, take the others, and retreat back to the forest as quickly as possible. Call the horses as soon as you are outside again. This is far larger than we can deal with by ourselves, even if all of us were in fighting shape, and our first goal is now for all of us to get away again safely.”

Everybody murmured their approval.

Glorfindel led the way, moving soundlessly back around the hind leg and towards the opening in the flank of the dragon. He stopped just outside the door, listening intently and waiting until everybody had caught up and drawn their swords. Then, they charged.

~oOo~

They were met with various swarthy faces, showing utter surprise, until a shout in a foreign language started a flurry of fighting. Their opponents, which Glorfindel recognised by their weapons and dress as Men from Umbar or the Far Harad - he could not remember precisely where - , fought like berserks, but the Elves had the moment of surprise on their side, and matched their opponents in number, skill, and determination. It did not take long until the Elves prevailed, with one of their enemies lying dead and the rest disarmed and bound. Glorfindel did a quick tour of the chamber, and, finding no other door to the outside, ordered Malen and Celechanar to guard it. Bregedaer and Lónaer had already disappeared through the only other door into the rear of the structure, and Glorfindel beckoned to Hatholdir to follow him there, his throat tight with apprehension.

They stepped into a large chamber, lavishly decorated in an exotic style, with several low couches grouped around a brazier and a large bed in the tapering back of the room. In addition to the brazier, the room was lit by  numerous candles placed on every kind of horizontal surface, flickering wildly and throwing bizarre shadows against the oddly-shaped walls. The whole structure of this dragon-thing was supported by what looked like a skeleton, with rich draperies hung in between the rib-like, vertical, supports.

A tall figure clad in voluminous robes of the darkest red stood in the middle of the room, arms outstretched and seemingly relaxed, locked in eye contact with both Bregedaer and Lónaer who had their swords pointed at his chest. The Man - no, he was an Elf, Glorfindel noticed, looked faintly familiar, but before Glorfindel could ask what was going on, he caught sight of Thranduil. His heart sank.

Like a broken puppet, the king of the Wood-elves had been thrown over a couch, lying with twisted limbs and his head hanging down in an unnatural angle, his face white as marble, and trails of dried blood under his nose. He was completely still, and a quick glance at the warrior’s faces confirmed his worst suspicion.

Glorfindel gasped. Not Thranduil, not like this! Not after everything they all had lived through.

The strange Elf turned to Glorfindel, fixing him with an odd, glittering, stare, and then threw back his head in manic laughter.

Glorfindel saw red. With a roar, he jumped forwards, ramming his sword into the Elf’s belly before anybody could move. The Elf shrieked and stumbled backwards, hands clasped around the blade in a futile attempt to draw it out, and fell into the brazier right behind him. His robes caught fire, and with increasing shrieks he tried to get away, rolling around on the floor and setting fire to everything he came in contact with.
Glorfindel ignored him, frantically climbing over furniture and falling onto his knees at Thranduil’s side.

“No,” he whispered, aghast, cradling the still head with utmost gentleness, brushing a blood-encrusted strand off the white face. Ever so carefully, he lifted the lifeless body into his arms and stood, oblivious of room around him going up in flames. A dim voice urged him to get out, and there were voices shouting and ordering, but he was completely focused on his heartbreaking burden. Somebody tugged him along, and then, something crashed, and everything went dark.

~oOo~