Quenta Narquelion by bunn

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Dwarves of Yore Made Mighty Spells

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Fëanor was watching Maedhros practicing at swordplay with Telutan, deep in the autumn-fading elm-woods of Ossiriand. They were moving fast among the shadowed trees, ducking and diving between the trunks, when Elrond came back from his meeting with the Laiquendi. He waited at a distance until they had seen him and stopped running.

“Any news?” Maedhros asked, putting up his sword, a little out of breath.

“Nothing new from the Laiquendi,” Elrond told him. “Some werewolves came across the water at the dark of the moon, and the Laiquendi shot them, so nothing to worry about there. They are low on food again. I said we would try to arrange another lot of supplies from across the mountains.”

Maedhros grimaced. “They still don’t want to move east?” Elrond shook his head. “Well, I suppose we must honour their tenacity. I wish there was a road that led down here though. If we could only bring a wagon or two through...”

“They wouldn’t consider it, you know that,” Elrond said. “And to be fair, a road would make them more vulnerable to attack.”

“Pack-horses loaded with nuts again it is, then,” Maedhos said, sighing.

Telutan winced. “I hate bringing horses across that pass!” he said. “One of these days we’re going to lose a horse on the narrow section. I hope it will only be the one... Warhorses are not bred for draft work in the mountains. If we only had some mules...”

“Well, yes, but we don’t,” Maedhros said. “Feel free to come up with another solution!”

“Maybe we could do something with rope,” Telutan said thoughtfully. “Just to bring sacks across the narrow section of the path. The Laiquendi could pick them up on the other side, then. Or we could ask the dwarves to lend some ponies...”

Elrond shook his head reluctantly. “The Laiquendi won’t have that... I’m not sure the dwarves would, either. The Laiquendi haven’t forgotten Thingol, and the dwarves haven’t forgotten what happened to the army of Nogrod at Sarn Athrad.”

“Ropes, then.” Telutan said, resigned. He sheathed his sword. “I’ll draw up a plan,”

“Well volunteered!” Maedhros said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You can tell Lanwion I authorised it.  Get Tautamion to build you a model for testing.”   He turned to Elrond. “Something new not from the Laiquendi, then?”

“Only some news from Elros. He’s well, but he says that Círdan has fought a Balrog in the hills near Nevrast. He managed to get away from it and back to the sea, Elros says, and it would not risk coming near the waves.”

“I’m glad to hear he got away. How did that happen, then? I thought Círdan was on Balar, and the Vanyar still held all the coast?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise attack. They didn’t know the Balrog was there. There are orc-tunnels all through Nevrast now, apparently, so Círdan landed some of his people and the Edain from Balar in the Firth of Drengest to try to clear them out. The Balrog was waiting in the hills for them, and came down on them all fire and fury.”

“Whew!” Maedhros shook his head, setting red hair flying where it had come loose from the braid. “Is Círdan still in Nevrast, then?”

“No. The attack on Nevrast failed. The Balrogs did something to the hills — I’m not sure what — and the Edain and Círdan’s people were beaten back to the boats, and had to flee. Círdan was the last to escape, apparently. They are all back in Eglarest, now. They’re rebuilding it again.”

“Are they? Good old Círdan. I wonder how many times he’s rebuilt the place now? He’s another who doesn’t give up easily. He’s tough enough to give even a Balrog indigestion.”

Elrond looked at him curiously. “Do you know him, then?”

“We were friends, a long time ago,when first we came to Middle-earth. When we first came ashore, the Falas was under siege, but Morgoth’s armies left it and came after us. Círdan was delighted to see us, at the time. And I used to see him from time to time in Hithlum, too when I was there taking counsel. I’m glad he’s still there, hanging on.”

“Elros is in Eglarest with Círdan at the moment.” Elrond said “Círdan was our father’s friend, too, or so he says. I don’t remember him... I think Círdan must have been on Balar when we were little.”

“Was Elros in the attack on Nevrast?” 

Elrond nodded. “Of course; he led the Edain. They were only guarding the ships though, he didn’t see much action.”

Maedhros frowned. “I’m glad he’s leaving the Balrogs to Círdan, at least. When you tell Maglor, you might make sure you tell him Elros is all right before you mention the Balrog.”

“I did that when I told you,” Elrond pointed out.

“So you did. How very thoughtful.”

“I always was,” Elrond said, with a faint smile. “You’re thinking of Elros.”

“Am I really?” Maedhros gave him a sceptical look. Then he looked speculatively down at the sword still in his left hand. “Do you want to fence? Telutan seems to have escaped to go and play with ropes and plans.”

Elrond laughed. “I’m not surprised! You could let him win occasionally. ”

“If I let people win all the time, there would be no incentive to try harder!” Maedhros told him.

“But you always win, so nobody wants to fence with you! Oh all right, then. I suppose I need the practice. I’m not proud,” Elrond said, giving him a grin and taking off his cloak to hang it on a tree.

 

* * * * *

 

That evening there was enough sky clear of Morgoth’s clouds that they could see the stars of Menelvagor the swordsman come up into the sky. They greeted him with the old song, and set the fire burning. Elrond lay back against a tree, looking up through the branches at the stars.

“Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima,” he said softly, as if in greeting, after a while.

Maedhros looked at him, eyebrows raised, and then up at the sky. “That is your father ?”

“Yes. They set his ship to sail the sky.”

“With the Silmaril,” Maedhros said, and the Oath shuddered through his words. Fëanor tensed, suddenly alert.

Elrond looked at Maedhros, frowning. “You knew that. Secure from all evil, Maglor said.”

“I did,” Maglor said, sitting forward with his eyes on his brother’s face. “And you agreed with me.”

“I hadn’t realised they had made him carry it personally,” Maedhros said, with something of an effort.

Elrond said, looking little wary now, “They gave him the choice. He wanted to take the path of Men and leave the world, but my mother chose the Elves. He stayed for her, and that was the task they set him. Or so I hear from the lord Finarfin.”

“And I thought our family was complicated already,” Maedhros said, lightly enough. “But no, cousin Turgon’s grandson got to choose whether to leave the world, and decided to stay and become a star instead.”

“Jealous?” Maglor asked him.

Maedhros managed a smile in reply. “Not of becoming a star, anyway. It will make a fine song though.”

“It’s good to see him, even far off, “ Elrond said.

Maedhros gave him a sympathetic look. “It is. Even for us. A sign of hope.” He glanced quickly over at his father’s spirit, cautiously, but Fëanor was willing to follow his lead on this, for now, at least. “Our father’s work too, up there where all can see its glory.”

Maglor leaned back against a tree-trunk, relaxed again, and began to run his fingers idly across his harp in the starlight.

 

* * * * *

 

The Sons of Fëanor were, of course, not invited to the war-council of Belegost. It was not a thing for outsiders, and in any case, officially, none of the Eldar spoke the language. Fëanor was reasonably confident that Maedhros and several of the smiths had picked up a certain amount of it by now, as he had himself. But in diplomatic terms, it was not a language for Elves, and so polite incomprehension was the only appropriate response.

They heard the voices echoing from the great assembly-halls afterwards though, as the decision was announced to all the people of Belegost. Nobody could have missed the singing. The deep voices ringing out fierce and terrible, the sound of drums and trumpets echoing through the long halls, travelling up the shafts from the mines up to the towers and windows that let out high upon the cold mountainside. It was as if the entire mountain was singing.

By the time Audur came to officially notify the Elvish allies of the decision, everyone knew that Belegost would march out to war with Morgoth once again.

The first strike would be against Mount Rerir. The mountain that had been Caranthir’s stronghold was now overrun with orcs, and they had made their foul tunnels all through the land around.

“It’s like an anthill,” Audur said, looking in disgust at the map, marked in many places with crosses where Maglor’s scouts, riding by at speed, had found entrances made by the orcs. Scored under the map were the marks that showed where the dwarf-listeners had found signs of orc-runs deep underground.

“It’s a mess,” Maedhros said. “Caranthir would be appalled. What do you want us to do?”

“We’re planning to hit them underground,” Audur said. “What can you do to keep them from running up and out? We want them distracted, so that when we come on them from below, the surprise will be total. I don’t want any of them getting away, but if I send an army overland, they will see us coming and have time to call for aid.”

Maedhros looked over at his brother, and then he glanced at Elrond. “I think we can probably manage that,” Maedhros said. “We could raise the lake. Would that do?”

Audur frowned up at him. “Maybe, if you’re careful about it. I don’t want my people fighting in flooded tunnels.”

“It would be a risk. I take it you don’t want the mountain to come down, either?” Maedhros said, staring at the map.

“If we wanted that, we wouldn’t need your help,” Audur said, rolling her eyes.

“No, I suppose not. Not water then, and not rock.” Maedhros said. “What does that leave? Speed, I suppose, or fire. But Morgoth’s servants have little fear of fire, and if there are more dragons it will be no good at all... Speed then, and, I suppose, terror. Use the horses. Maglor, I think this one is yours. ”

“Light?” Elrond suggested.

“None of us are Vanyar?” Maedhos said. “What are you thinking of?”

“Starlight,” Elrond said. “Starlight on the lake?”

“Oh!” Maedhros smiled, a dangerous smile. “That would certainly get them looking up... All right. I’ll take the horses, then, and see to the terror. You and Maglor can look up at the stars.”

“I assume you Elves all know what you are talking about,” Audur said, looking more than a little exasperated. “Can I tell our people that you will arrange some sort of feint?”

“Yes, indeed,” Maedhros told her.

 

* * * * *

Thargelion was quiet and dark around them, sharp-smelling and gloomy in the mirk. Lake Helevorn lay dark and quiet to the south, and the half-ruined fortress on the mountain, dark and ragged around the edges, was lit with flames.

They had crept around the lake as silently as they could, but the time for secrecy was almost over now. The only sound was the faint noise of the horses shifting from time to time. Somewhere far underground, the army of Belegost was, presumably, on the move, but you would never know it from here. Out there above them on the mountain, orcs were moving, but they were too far away to hear anything less than a shout.

“Ready?” A whisper from Maedhros, high on horseback. Most of the Eldar were mounted, but Elrond and Maglor were on foot, and Telutan who had been born to this land was with them.

Maglor’s eyes in the dark, glinting still with an echo of the light of the Trees of Valinor, as he gave the signal.

The ripple of harpsong, calling, yearning, looking back into the deep waters of memory.

Elrond’s voice, calling out a prayer to Elbereth, changing to a chant that spoke to the lake of nights long past, when the stars had hung reflected in the deep dark water.

And the long dark memory of the lake answered with starlight. Elvish starlight from the years when the stars were young and fierce, and neither sun nor moon had come to eclipse their radiance.

Maglor’s voice wove through it, calling on the last light of Telperion, carried by the Moon. Telutan’s voice singing in the Sindarin dialect that they had spoken, once, on the shores of Helevorn, singing of sunlight rising out of the Ered Luin, and shining golden on Mount Rerir.

Elrond’s voice again, raised high above the others, calling out the final words to set the spell;

“Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima!”

The murky, fouled and stinking waters of Lake Helevorn were gone, and the lake remembered all its long years of starlight. And it shone. Brighter, and brighter, silver against the black of the mountainside, a thousand years of stars that glittered with the light of the fallen Trees of Valinor, lighting all the great vale of Helevorn with a light that was a terror to all the servants of the darkness.

And on the mountain, the shrieking of orcs that had thought their master’s darkness unbreakable, as Maedhros and his riders swept up to them like a memory of Oromë himself, their horns calling. Fëanor himself at the rear, an unseen burning terror to the servants of Morgoth. There were not many of them, of course. A tiny remnant, who could have been overwhelmed in a moment, if the orcs had stopped for thought, or if they had had a commander with the will to fight. The wild riders could not have overcome a determined resistance. But there was very little of that. The orcs turned in terror and fled into their tunnels.

And then, answering the horns of the Eldar on the mountain-side, a deep muffled note, voices, horns and drums, calling from deep underground.

The Dwarves of Belegost were coming up.

In the end, they did bring down the mountain. Or at least, the Dwarves did. Maedhros and his people had done their work by then, and had retreated back to the west side of the lake, where the light had dwindled and was almost lost already, galloping down again from the hills to form a circle around Maglor, Elrond and Telutan, who had all three thrown in all they had to give. Elrond and Telutan were unable to stand, and Maglor was not in much better shape.

The forces of Belegost marched out of the mountains into Thargelion behind them, carrying great lamps and singing, and as the last of them got clear away from the mountain-tunnels, they chanted the words that brought the tunnels and the old fortress above them down behind them in a great slow rumbling slide that buried the slain orcs and the remaining bones of the people of Thargelion all together. The falling mountain ran down southward into the lake itself, and changed its shape forever.

The Noldor had lost twenty of their people, in that first wild attack, and three horses too. The Dwarves had lost far more, in their savage underground battle against the orcs, but of course there had been so many more of them to begin with.

But this time all the dead would be honoured in full. This time, there were no hasty burials or songs sung half under the breath, for they had all the force of Belegost behind them. All the dead were carried back across Thargelion with full honours by the host of Belegost, marching inexorable across the darkened land, singing in honour of Mahal the Maker, and of Elbereth of the stars.

The dwarves would be laid in stone tombs, deep underground, where they could be visited and remembered by all their kin. But they carried the Noldor through the pass and buried them in the green lower slopes of the Ered Luin, where the sun would touch on the grass that lay over them in the morning.

They set no stone over their dead. Instead, they planted a tree, a holly tree, tough, evergreen and persistent, the kind of tree that even if it is felled, sends shoots up from the roots, to remember them by.

Maedhros had expected a swift counter-attack. But when the next major attack came, it was not directed at the East at all. Morgoth sent dragons out of what had been Doriath against the Vanyar host and to the Noldor on the rivershore of Sirion, too. The Vanyar were hard put to it to hold their position: the lightstorm against the darkened skies could be seen leagues away.

“I am starting to wonder if Morgoth is taking us seriously,” Maedhros said, in puzzlement to Audur, one evening when she came to share news and a meal with the Elves in the Hall of Heliodor.

“Perhaps we should have tried to occupy Thargelion, after all,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “If I had known he would not strike back straight away, I’d have been tempted to set up fortifications.”

“From the sound of what he did in Nevrast, fortifications will not hold him. He’s using the power of the earth, as he did in the Dagor Bragollach, to bring down hills. I would not wish to face his rivers of fire again,” Maglor said dourly.

“I remember hearing of it. I suppose that if he is doing that, then there is no safety underground,” Audur said sadly looking around at the long stone hall with its carven walls. “Alas for Gabilgathol, my beloved city. I fear for her.”

“She has stood longer than any of the cities of our people in Middle-earth,” Maedhros said, with sympathy. “Mahal must be proud of her and her people. And if she falls, we will never forget her.”

“Your people won’t.” Audur said, turning her gold arm-ring so the yellow stone caught the firelight. “But there are not many of you left. I am not sure that even our own cousins understand why we took our stand: why we went out against the enemy, why we fought the Dragon. I feel old. When I am dead, and my nephews too, I wonder who will remember Belegost, and what they’ll say of us?”

Then she shook her head, and laughed. “I must be more wary of mixing with Elves; it makes me melancholy! We have planned our retreat with care, if we must do it, then we’ll find new mountains and build new cities. And in the meanwhile, we’ll hit our Enemy where it hurts.”

“There is nothing more cheering than Dwarvish determination!” Maedhros said “I’ll strive to follow your example. But I can’t help wondering what the Enemy is up to.”