“The Nightingale”
The blood red sun descended slowly over the glimmering elven city. Coolness of the night settled over the valley like a light mist, airy and refreshing. As the last rays of light caressed the land, they revealed a swift party of seven wood elves lightly running on a rope stretched across the river. One elf, T’núviel Evenstar, was leading the party. Her golden waterfall of hair flowed out behind her as she ran, its motion like that of the large, crashing blue one a mere 10 metres downstream of their ford. The others were alert. T’núviel sniffed the air as she ran and picked up speed. Their pursuers were closing the distance.
*****
The setting sun also revealed a dozing old gatekeeper. He lived in the crumbling gatehouse outside the city of East Emnet, and had been there for as long as anyone could remember. The pounding of iron-shod feet awakened the old man from his drowse. By the time his failing eyes were cleared of their sleepy bleariness and he recognized the sight before him, he didn’t have a chance. For the first and last time, the old gatekeeper had failed his doomed city.
*****
T’núviel Evenstar stopped at the edge of the trees before the flatlands.
“We rest here tonight!” She called to her companions, who were running close behind, “Yet, we must only stop for a short time. The Enemy is near, and we need to reach the havens before them.”
The elves made camp and lay down to rest. One sentry was left to watch while the others slept. As the night blanketed the world in velvety blackness, the silence grew. Every single cricket seemed to sound like a scream, and every rustling of a night bird’s wings might have been a thunderclap. The darkness pressed around, suffocating and chilling. The sentry began to sense a presence; first to the left, then right, far then near again. When the attack finally did come, it was from the least expected place. A tree, taken by the magic of the Forest, was angered by the travellers’ careless fire. The infuriated oak killed the young elf quickly, but he was faster. He just barely had time cry out a panicked “Run!” before he was dead, but that was enough. The other elves flocked together and fled. So dark was it that, in their haste, they went to the west, instead of east; and disappeared, lost, into the wilderness of the Misty Mountains.
When the sun finally dawned and the morning fog lifted, the six elves took in their surroundings. They stood at the foot of four mountains, with rocks and other mountains as far as the eye could see. A hundred metres uphill, crystalline snow sparkled. Using the sun’s position, their scout determined which way was east, and they began their journey again. The day continued on and the sun beat down on their heads. There was no shelter, and, unprepared, they were losing water by the minute. T’núviel could see the stress in her friends’ faces and called a halt.
“Who’s here? Is anyone hurt?”
No one spoke of the sentry of the night before. One elf stepped forward, a tear visible on her pale cheekbone.
“My brother, Solosse, was injured in the flight from the forest. He was lost to the cold before the sun rose.
T’núviel replied with the Prayer for the deceased. “Hiro hyn hîdh ab ‘wanath, may he find peace.”
“Hiro hyn hîdh ab ‘wanath,” the group repeated.
“We should move on now; the clean snow further up the mountains can be melted into water to heal the wounded. Travel with all haste possible.” So the five set a quick pace up the mountains, to where the fresh snow beckoned.
*****
In the black pits of the long-abandoned dwarfish mines, a call sounded. Goblins, orcs, and other such filth had spawned there for centuries, waiting to vent their collective frustration and quench their natural thirst for violence. A cry arose, drowning out the thunderous beating of drums.
We march! The call beat in their twisted skulls. We march! We march! We march! After thousands of years of waiting, the scum of Middle-Earth crawled from their cracks in the masonry and prepared to serve their master.
*****
Indiscernible to the rioting orcs, the sun set again. The last tendrils of light streaked the sky with crimson and glimmered off the diamonds of snow. Tired as they were, the elves could not stop. They had lost days of precious time by straying into the mountains. As the travellers carried their message over the deep, fresh snow, barely leaving a mark, they saw an odd shadow in the smooth landscape. It was a mere spot of darkness deeper than the moonlit night around them.
“What is there? Threat or help, friend or foe?” whispered the sharp-eyed ErynAre.
“A shadow, no more,” another dismissed.
“We will move closer,” decided T’núviel. “It is important to know our surroundings at all times.”
The five elves continued on, veering slightly towards the unknown possibility. Closer they came and it still seemed a velvety shadow. A cloud covered the moon and the night deepened. A wolf howled somewhere, its sound eerie and bone chilling. Many cries answered it, hungry and insane, moving closer and closer. Prowling mountain wolves had caught their scent. The companions ran towards the shadow while numerous memories of mountain wolf attacks surfaced in their minds.
When they finally reached the unknown shadow, it revealed a small cave mouth, no bigger than an agile elf could slide in sideways and that only if he placed his bow and quiver inside beforehand. The five, who, fortunately, were all of these, quickly shed their packs and slid inside. They found some large rocks and hastily jammed the entrance, while the hungry animals howled outside and scrambled to catch their quarry. The exhausted elves collapsed onto the floor and lapsed into a blissful sleep.
When morning came, a fresh snow covered the ground and reflected light into the dark chamber. ErynAre’s eyes flickered open and she decided to explore the rest of the cave. A dark, low passage led away from the light. Cautiously, ErynAre stepped into it and followed the tunnel about 10 metres downhill. She exited the passageway and found herself in a circular chamber with beautiful engravings on the walls. She turned slowly around and, when her eyes reached the far side, she gasped in surprise and ran back to wake the others.
Following ErynAre, T’núviel and the three other elves descended into the carved chamber. They, too, gasped with surprise at its beauty. A thin beam of sunlight illuminated an arc of elvish runes. The archway was as tall as a man and almost as wide as two could walk abreast. The inscription read:
Enter here, those in need
Place your hand upon my door
Before you do, my warnings heed
Find what you seek and nothing more
In the common tongue:
Enter here, those in need
Place your hand upon my door
Before you do, my warnings heed
Find what you seek and nothing more
Wordlessly, T’núviel placed her hand flat on the stone within the runes. The stone outlining the runes ground and a hairline crack appeared. Slowly, the archway swung outwards.
And so the three elves entered into the Caverns of the Maranwë to continue their quest, little knowing what would befall them as they did…