Song of Souls by Raiyana

Chapter 6

Celebrimbor woke with a scream, almost comforted by the sight of the nothingness that was better than his memories of pain and fear. It had been an eternity since he had heard Narví’s voice, heard her bellow out a war cry, fury evident in every syllable.

Narví was getting tired; they had defended their barricades for almost 6 hours before Glorfindel blew the retreat and the vanguard was obviously the last to cross the long planks they were using for bridges, while the rear-guard and the archers continued to decimate the ranks of Orcs that were still coming over their line of defence. In her arms, Khalebrimbur’s corpse lay limply; she ignored the sickly-sweet smell of decay that clung to him, pretending it was the warm scent of hot metal and coals as she carried him across the planks. She had put him down once they were back behind the barricade, but she hadn’t even acknowledged Glorfindel’s offer of taking her burden. No one would be carrying her elf except her. The Elf had simply sighed, raising his sword once more and falling in behind her, allowing her to focus on cross the blood-slippery wood without falling into the Glanduin – the river was not too swift, here, but it was deep and her armour was heavy. If she fell in, she would not be able to get back out under her own power, Narví knew, though the threat of drowning was a distant concern to her, overshadowed by her broken and bleeding heart. She had known, yes, but there was a difference between knowing her Khalebrimbur had perished – she had not wished to believe it, but she had known that when he said goodbye to her in Durin’s Council Chamber, it was goodbye for good – and actually seeing the physical evidence of the horrors that had been done to him. She tried to call forth images of his smiles, of his skin unblemished as he worked shirtless in his forge on a hot summer’s day, but her happier memories kept being pushed away by the horrible image of his tortured flesh hung up on a pole to be carried as a banner of war. Narví did not speak a word, simply continued to head towards the Sirannon, her feet sinking into the soft ground between the two rivers. Around her, soldiers were fighting, and Glorfindel was never far, his weapon singing through the air as he fought the oncoming hordes. Narví’s hand was still clutching the handle of her axe, but she did not swing it, slowly moving forwards, always forwards, carrying her precious burden towards the mountains of home.

The darkness around them was thick like the deep mines; even Glorfindel’s glow seemed diminished, as though the dark clouds of the Enemy’s making had fallen down from the heavens and layered across the boggy ground they were traversing, their steel boots getting trapped in soggy patches. The Elf was dancing across the ground, keeping an eye out for any pursuit. Narví herself felt mostly useless, her arms full of Celebrimbor’s cold corpse and leaving no way for her to swing her axe without dropping him. She had heard guardsdwarrow die behind her, but she had to keep moving no matter what, she knew, survival more important than mourning. Glorfindel’s words earlier had borne fruit in her mind, a thought she wasn’t sure had even occurred to the Elf himself: If the Enemy knew about Khalebrimbur’s friendship with her, Narví thought it likely he would also assume – or guess, she didn’t think Khalebrimbur would have told him anything on purpose – that she either possessed one of the rings – Durin did, the Ring of Sapphire, which Khalebrimbur had made almost a century before, shortly after they had first agreed to building their gate, as a sign of friendship between their peoples – or that Narví knew where the Three might be found. As a matter of fact, she had some idea; surely, he would have sent at least one to his cousin – Narví wasn’t quite sure if the Lady who had walked through the Deep without her light ever dimming was his cousin or his niece – the Lady Galadriel, and probably one to Gil-galad, the High King of his own kind. It’s what she would have done if she wanted to keep safe something that important, and Khalebrimbur was cleverer than she was in many areas; even if he was woefully naïve in other matters.

The sound of running water became louder in her ears, the sounds of battle dimmer behind her with every step. They had left behind a few of her guard to halt the Enemy’s pursuit; Narví could have cursed herself for giving away her position with her insistence on reclaiming Khalebrimbur’s corpse, but she could have done no different in the moment, she knew, even if she had known how doggedly their enemies would pursue them to get to her. Glorfindel’s light, too, seemed dimmer, as though he was tiring, and yet he kept vigilant, while on her other side one of her oldest and most trusted guards – one of her brother’s personal friends, in fact – seemed bent on ensuring no blade had a chance of even getting near her armour to test its capabilities. Narví almost smiled. Harkon was diligent at all times, but she reckoned he’d received special instructions from Durin with the way he stuck to her side like a burr, his axes whirling instruments of death. In her arms, Khalebrimbur lay still, as though – aside from the wounds hat marred his pale flesh and the way his head lolled on his broken neck if she bumped it away from her shoulder – he might be simply sleeping. We’re almost home, Khalebrimbur. She didn’t know if she had said the words aloud, tiredness dragging at her heels when she finally stepped through the last obstructive holly-bush and caught sight of the pale ribbon that was the Sirannon. On her right, the sound of the Gate Falls roared through the still and oppressive darkness; she had never felt so terrified of darkness before, even in the deepest blackest pit of a mine they had dug. The darkness inside a mine, however, was a welcoming thing; the bosom of their Stone Mother, the Realm of their Father, where no Dwarf would ever be shown away. This darkness, however, was clammy and oily against her skin, smelling foul and filled with malevolent hatred and greed for something she could not name.

“We cannot cross here, Narví,” Harkon remarked, which was true; the stream was not that wide, but it was swift and deadly deep so close to the falls.

“We must, Harkon,” she said, trying to give him an encouraging smile. It was a pale effort at best. Glorfindel nodded.

“We cannot get further down stream,” he added, “the Orcs have already crossed the river: they’re fighting their way along the Great Road now.” Narví snarled quietly.

“So be it.” Setting down Khalebrimbur, she began pulling off the plate-mail of her armour. Harkon gasped. “We cannot swim in steel, Harkon,” Narví sighed. Behind them, they could hear someone violently crashing through the foliage. Harkon stiffened.

“I will guard your back, Narví Zabad,” he swore, turning his back on the river. Narví wanted to cry, but she would not demean his sacrifice by offering protest. Instead, she nodded.

“I will sing for you,” she murmured, barely giving herself time to witness his nod before picking up the body once more. Harkon did not turn, but Narví knew he was smiling.

“Let me carry Celebrimbor,” Glorfindel said. By virtue of his height, should be able to walk across the bottom for most of the crossing while keeping his head above water. Narví sighed; part of her wanted to be stubborn, keep hold of her love’s physical shell, no matter how empty, but she knew that she would be unable to keep herself alive while keeping him in her arms at the same time. She might have abandoned the heavier pieces of armour designed to safeguard her from sword-strokes and axe-blows, but she was still wearing mithril mail and steel boots, the armouring surrounding her legs too cumbersome to remove without aid. Nodding to the elf when he bent to pick up the corpse, she waited until he had made it into the stream, his helm left behind as his only concession to the power of the rushing water. Taking a deep breath, and with the sound of Harkon’s war-cry ringing in her ears, Narví plunged into the icy stream.

“We’re almost home, Khalebrimbur,” Narví’s voice whispered through the foggy greyness that surrounded him. It made Celebrimbor look up sharply, fearing that she would be gone forever when he had stopped hearing the ringing echoes of his own cries and realised that her voice was silent.