The hammer and the star by Chiara Cadrich

The hammer and the star

Read The hammer and the star

This short novel was posted as a contribution to a challenge, which theme was « The doors of Moria ».

.oOo.

At the sign of the Drunken Goose…

Tonight our story is told by a young lonely dwarf, whose great conquering nose often tinges with deep carmine. The divine bottle, auxiliary or substitute for many muses, often provides him with company. Our dwarf usually peddles small luxury goods, along the Greenway, to rivermen or the inhabitants of the Blue Mountains. Somehow poseur and vain, this bearded mountebank often takes liberties with reality – the value, quality, origin and composition of his goods are sometimes approximate. To put it bluntly, his family ended up throwing out this failed merchant, who’s living a dilettante poet’s existence.

So for now his finances force him to dine at a discount. Furthermore he appreciates the warm company and the kind attention of the great hall of the Drunken Goose.

When a busty weaver asks why Dwarves and Elves always seem to be at war, he exclaims, and, on the spot, dusts off an old tale by peppering it with home-made approximations.

.oOo.

Around SA 1200, a powerfull Maïa¹, who was called Annatar, the Lord of Gifts, arrives in Eregion. Celebrimbor, a famous silversmith and Fëanor’s last kin, welcomes him in his brotherhood.

Eregion, Gwaith-i-Mírdain ², SA 1584

The crucible wild blaze splatters the porphyry wall, projecting there monstrous shadows of two giants striking back. The Elf and Dwarf are picking on a tiny flicker, hurling their steel hammers with the regularity of a clock and the fierceness of a ram. The stubborn glow throbs and glazes with a cheerful tinkle under each powerful blow. Purple fumaroles roll around the artisans’ wrists, distilling acrid bloody and stormy fragrances. Like a living being, molten metal is a whimsical and challenging servant. But the two masters slaughter their enchanted maces with consummate skill and perfect accordance. Pinchers twirl, anvil sings in two voices a bewitching air. The twin hammering shapes the noble material, sublimating the smith’s delicate science with the jeweler’s transcending intention.

And suddenly a double ring hatches, like two flowers emerging from the same original bud, the subtle Noldorin lines running on the refined Naugrim alloy.

The two friends deal the separating blow together and raise their works to the light, exchanging a satisfied and conniving smile in the sweltering heat of the forges. Then, with the same gesture, they dive back to work, chiseling and crimping the twin rings, they exchange and round off slowly. Power words chanted in Khuzdul echo with the elven incantatory litanies until morning.

Finally the Dwarf and the Elf walk out of the forges, staggering with fatigue but thankfully enjoying the thrill of this fertile communion.

Celebrimbor, dazzled by this uncanny merging experience, begins to understand that the sharing Lord Annatar once offered him, was not as altruistic as he had thought at the time. How misled he had been... A long time ago he had earnestly sought the alliance of Lady Galadriel, but she had rejected him from her thoughts, refusing to share his creative excitement. But now Celebrimbor has met Narvi the Dwarf...

.oOo.

Throne room of Khâzad-Dûm, SA 1628

From his throne, the great Dwarf scans the splendors spread at his feet and all the necks bent before him. His lofty forehead radiates a compelling determination. His brazen arm holds a quiet but irresistible strength. His dresses trickle with gold and silver, these Dwarven toys. Thousand jewels crown his august white hair with an unreal flickering.

Dúrin the third is enthroned in majesty in the ceremonial hall of Dwarrowdelf. His glance is an order.

His fist shines with the lights of a golden ring, set with an emerald. Since he has claimed this gift from Celebrimbor as an heirloom, the King under the Mountain does not experience weakness any more. When he withdraws in himself, visions form and his penetrating wisdom reveals the ways of power.

– "Fràar! Come to me!"

The commander of the mines comes forward and bows respectfully.

– "For many moons, Mahal has been sending me a dream. Have galleries set down northward, from the ninth depth! We shall find a vein that the world would envy us. Even more than today, our kingdom will ensure its dominance among the seven clans and hegemony over its neighbors. "

As a matter of fact, shortly after this grand revelation, Fràar discovered huge veins of mithril. This discover insured wealth and fame for the kingdom of Khazad-Dûm. ³

While Fràar, overwhelmed by the prescience of his king, is mustering his captains to reach the depths, the King under the Mountain continues his inspiration:

– "Narvi! Come before me!"

The first ambassador does not appear in the large hall any more, without a shudder of apprehension. The king’s understanding has become subtle and deep, but his vision has hardened and Narvi fears his decisions.

– "The fate of our people is imminent – wealth, power and fame torn from our mines with the sweat of our brows. I order that should be built impassable doors that keep the Mountain from the greed of our enemies. No one may pass them without the blessing of the King under the Mountain. Go!"

.oOo.

Western door of Khâzad-Dûm, SA 1629

After months of grueling work, the western gates are erected. Narvi is about to complete his work by solemnly dedicating them to the authority of the King under the Mountain.

– "May this seal bear no ill omen!" he sighs deeply, thinking that never before the entrance had been closed.

But suddenly his heart leaps for joy. Light footsteps climb the stairs of the stream behind him. His Dwarven soul recognizes a friend even before Narvi can identify the cheerful and shrill voice hailing him:

– "Hey, Master Narvi! Why do you close your stone house?"

The thankful Dwarf turns to the newcomer:

– "Celebrimbor, my friend! Be twice welcome, in this moment of doubt! I have built Dwarven doors, my masterpiece... but I cannot seal them. My heart is warning me. Yet the will of the King under the Mountain must be obeyed…"

The tall Elf instinctively grasps his friend’s reluctance. He thinks for a while and smiles at the Dwarf, with a star shining in the background of his look:

– "Of course! But your king has left you free, about how to carry out his order..."

Then the two friends work hard, carving, engraving, inlaying tiny moonstone crystals. For a whole day and part of the night, the two soul mates support and inspire each other to dedicate the union of two people. When the moon rises, Celebrimbor and Narvi join their voices and twin rings to pronounce the sacramental vow. The inscription is illuminated briefly before vanishing, while the doors majestically open:

« Ennyn Dúrin  Aran Moria ! Pedo mellon a minno. Im Narvi Hain echant Celebrimboro o Eregion teithant i thiw hin. ⁴»

Ravished, the two companions lengthily contemplate each other’s work. It seems to them, their friendship will bloom as long as these doors endure and blaze together the Hammer of Dúrin and the Star of Fëanor.

.oOo.

Throne room of Khâzad-Dûm, SA 1629, one week later:

– "Never did any descendant of Dúrin dare so brazenly to disobey the King under the Mountain!"

Narvi, kneeling and mortified, beholds the remains of his beautiful black beard, scattered on the floor around him. He has not even had the opportunity to justify his deeds. The fury of the King under the Mountain falls on him with a blind intransigence.

The ruler of Dwarrowdelf feels betrayed by his own blood. The door, which was to ensure the safety of his people, was tainted by a foreign hand! The password has been revealed! Dúrin the third fulminates:

– "You shall no longer leave the Mountain! Since this door cannot be safe, I'll give it a perpetual keeper! I make you hereditary sentinel of the western door. May your sons, if you ever beget, expiate their father’s fault!"

The king is about to dismiss Narvi. Then, suspiciously contemplating his ring for a while, he changes his mind and says:

– "And I strictly forbid foreigners to enter Khâzad-Dûm! The head of anyone who disobeys this order, will be severed, along with his accomplices, be they of Dùrin’s blood!"

.oOo.

Western door of Khâzad-Dûm, SA 1697

The warg tears the head of the Elf warrior who was fleeing before him. Eager for warm, clear blood, it devours the viscera, then stops when it spots a girl reaching the top of the stairs. The terrorized slender elf is frantically hitting her thin fists on the closed stone door, when the warg interrupts her screams by crushing her chest in a sickening crack. The monster shivers with delight, swallowing the tasty flesh, subtly veined with terror...

As far as the eyes can see, holly bushes burn and dark hordes ride by. Elven refugees flock, harassed by orcs mounted on dire wolves. Fugitives fall exhausted, soon slain by an orc or shredded by a warg. A group of women and children, protected by some elven warriors, is slowly progressing on the paved road. Celebrimbor was able to gather the best surviving swordsmen after the sack of Ost-in-Edhil. Helped by Elrond and Glorfindel, he is leading the little band, to find refuge with his friend Narvi, to the western gate of Dwarrowdelf.

Finally the harassed group joins the portal. Sated, the coward warg that was feasting at the entrance moves away carefully.

Celebrimbor stands in front of the doors and appeals to friendship. In vain. Behind locked doors, a Dwarf with a short black beard is crying his impotence, hampered by his comrades.

The Fëanorian hoarses. The doors remain sealed, under the horrified eyes of the elves. Hope is dying in their heart. Out of himself and disbelieving Celebrimbor cannot reject his friendship vows, nor cast a curse on the treacherous line of Dùrin.

Then the sky darkens even more, as if all the storms of the Misty Mountains assemble for the kill. Evil creatures themselves, fearing what approaches, disperse whining.

Annatar, Lord of gifts, hurls raging to the door. It is no time any more for him to conceal his malice in a glorious coaxing presence or a subtle promising speech. His ferocious greed and thirst for domination over all life, alter his unreal beauty and clear the battlefield. Driven by an unquenchable frustration, he is chasing the brave who has ripped the Elven Rings from his control.

Along with an implacable hatred for this vile renegade Maïa, Celebrimbor feels overwhelmed by an irrepressible disgust, this supreme nausea from which frees only death. Recognizing the noxious rumor that announces Morgoth Bauglir’s⁵ henchman, he sends the heroes away. Alone, he will stand while the remnants of Eregion’s folk flee.

Struck by the glazed look of the Fëanorian, Elrond and Glorfindel obey and let him to his fate. Bringing together the survivors and leading them to the north, they pretend to aim for the Redhorn Pass and mislead their enemies’ tracking.

In front of the closed door, a desperate revolt confronts an insatiable lust.

This revolt is fair, this right unquestionable, this resistance fierce.

However, perfidious hatred has long veiled its violence with cunning, creeping at the heart of his enemies to know, divide and conquer them. The dark design of domination will break the resistance with a relentless compulsion, for he knows everything of his opponent. Celebrimbor has but one secret to reveal, that Annatar is to extricate from him with palpitating shreds of his disjointed body.

The Lord of Gifts comes forward. He is to give pain and death.

.oOo.

The Fëanorian is cornered and bloodless. The devious Maïa watches his opponent’s last blow to snatch his sword, gauntlet and hand at a time. Then the slow torture will extirpate out of his prey, the last secret of Celebrimbor. Annatar will know where are Vilya, Nenya and Narya. And his reign will be complete – inevitable and final.

Exhausted but undaunted, Celebrimbor gathers all his energy for a final assault. Annatar already has him in his power, and smiles at his sacrificial victim with a winning and sneer grin.

But then comes out of the door, a short shape in shining chainmail. The Maïa has only time to see a Dwarven mask grinning a curse. Celebrimbor’s galvorn⁶ sword and Narvi’s war hammer fall down together in a single flash, on Annatar who switches on with a cry of terror.

.oOo.

The gates of Moria have closed. An explosion has dug a deep crater in front of the threshold⁷. The surprised Maïa had to draw on the very essence of his flesh to survive this onslaught, led by hatred tenfolded with love. As a thick smoke is clearing, Lord Annatar painfully rises among the corpses. His jagged face will never hoist again, the deceitful smile of his insolent beauty.

He just missed supreme victory. Celebrimbor has kept his secret in death. His curse falls on the sealed doors, this time in vain. But the line of Dúrin will not be forgotten.

The remains of Celebrimbor and Narvi are impaled on tall irons spears, carried as banners by a troll guard.

United in death, the Dwarf and the Elf will keep their secret, long after have erased on the doors, the Hammer of Dúrin and the Star of Fëanor.

.oOo.

At the sign of the Drunken Goose…

The generous weaver woman has sat down beside the voluble Dwarf. Success confers a certain charm... As the hall loudly congratulates the Naugrim for his history, she leans on his shoulder and languidly whispers in his ear:

– "I had guessed what was written on the door : Speak, Lover, and come within!"

Such understanding of the young woman surprises the Dwarf, who stares at her with interest for the first time of the evening. So at least someone could follow him... But she adds with a glance:

– "I know that, since it is also written on my door!"

.oOo.

Notes

1 Maïa, pl Maïar : prime being akin to the Valar, whom they are sometimes the followers. Olorin, Iarwain Ben Adar (Tom Bombadil), Melian and Sauron are Maïar.

2 Smith’s brotherhood.

3 But it also led to its fall, in the Third Age, when the veins, dug ever deeper and deeper, liberated an invincible foe, the Balrog.

4 The doors of Dúrin, king of Moria. Speak Friend and come in. I Narvi have made them. Celebrimbor of Eregion has engraved these signs.

5 The Black Enemy of the world, the binding.

6 « (…) metal as hard as dwarven steel is malleable, but he could make it thin and flexible as silk, while impenetrable to arrows and swords. Eöl called it galvorn, since it was jet-black and shining, and he wore it whenever he travelled. » The Silmarillion, J.R.R Tolkien.

7 The attentive reader noticed that an attempt of explanation has skipped here, about the origin of the lake in front of the western door of Khazad Dum…