Chapter 8....not edited....

Please tell me if this is just terrible. It's not the whole thing, but a bit. Comments are welcome.


Chapter 8

A day had come and gone since Gimli’s news had reached the Elf’s less than enthusiastic ears. Anxiety, but also frustration had doused his already low spirits. But after a night alone to his thoughts, accompanied only by the trickling of spring water and the gentle glow of starlight, he had resolved to keep his irritation to himself. At least, he thought, to the best of his ability. After all, Gimli wanted to give his friend a good experience among his Dwarven kindred. Legolas did not wish to disappoint his sturdy companion, either by his fouled mood or by his fear of being trapped beneath the earth. As the night waned, he had readied himself for the coming day, resolved and accepting of whatever this forced time with the Dwarves would bring.

************

The halls and passages were alive with sounds and scuttling as the Dwarves made their separate ways to wherever each began the day. Legolas walked without pause, ignoring some of the more curious looks cast his direction. It seemed the news of his ‘illness’ was a source of bewilderment and gossip for the more talkative of the inhabitants. Hushed whispers and sideways glances clung to him like his own shadow. But the Elf strode on purposefully, acting as if he had seen or heard nothing.

“Master Legolas! You’re up and about again, I see!”

Legolas’ pace slowed as the voice registered in his mind. Mistrust flared up inside him, but when he turned, his face was as passive as ever.

“Greetings, Master Kori,” said the Elf. “Yes, I am indeed. I was just on my way to find Gimli and ask if there was anything I could do to make myself useful.”

Without missing a beat, Kori took a step forward.

“I’m sure there is something for you here. It is unfortunate for you, being forced to stay with us for such a length of time. But there is much to be done in Aglarond. In fact….” He paused a moment as if thinking. “There is one thing that needs doing. It would be a bit of a stretch for one of our kind, but you look to be the perfect height.”

“What is it?” Legolas asked. He fought for control of his ‘mask’ of calm. No matter what this Dwarf had said previously, no matter the apologetic appearance, Legolas had lived long enough to spot a double motive in even the most innocent of souls. Kori seemed a mite too eager to help too often. And that was a rare trait in any Dwarf. Aside from this, the overseer had sent the Elf into the deepest bout of Sea Longing he had endured in a long time. Legolas swallowed hard, as if the taste of salt had not yet left his mouth.

“Well, you see,” Kori began, “about a month ago, we carved our way into a large cave deep within the mountain. To our immediate dismay, there were no jewels to be found, but after a moment we heard water rushing overhead. Upon further investigation, we discovered that a stream of some sort runs along the cavern floor above us. The stream would be excellent backup in the event of an emergency shortage of water. The only trouble is, it’s a good way above our heads. Even you would need a ladder, but being one of…um…advanced stature, you should be able to access the stream nicely and far more quickly than we could. Already there are channels dug into the cave floor to route the water.”

“In short, you want me to chisel a crack in the cave ceiling in order to re-route some of the stream’s water to this level.” Legolas summed up.

“Exactly!” Kori replied. “Of course, I realize my request does not come naturally for one of your kind. A hammer and pick never quite sit well in the hands of an Elf. But you’re definitely tall enough that it wouldn’t take long for you finish the job. Dwarves are not very gifted in the way of balance, as you know. The stream is small and should be easily accessible. Are you up for it?”
Legolas hesitated, battling within himself. He wanted to do something, anything to keep him active and to hinder his mind from dwelling on frustration that bordered on despair. But the thought of venturing deep into the mountain caused a bolt of fear to pierce his chest. Elves and dark holes beneath the earth simply did not go together. And what was more, his faith in Kori had dwindled the moment Legolas had tasted the sea in his mug. The Elf swept his powerful gaze over the Dwarf before him, searching for some sign of treachery hidden there. Something like mischief danced beneath the friendliness of Kori’s dark eyes.

“If you still feel unwell, I am sure that I can find something less strenuous for you to do,” said the Dwarf. The look that accompanied the suggestion was innocent enough, but beneath the concern, something other than pity lurked. Legolas had seen it as surely as if a banner had passed between Kori’s eyes.

A challenge.

“No, Master Kori,” began the Elf, returning the same message. “I am recovered. Lead the way.” His response had betrayed nothing, but in his deep, blue eyes, it had been spoken.

I accept.

****************

Stifling. That was the word that came to Legolas’ mind as Kori led him by torchlight deeper and deeper into the earth. The cavern’s smoothed walls had grown slowly wilder and untouched the farther they went. Without the light of the torch’s fire to guide them, the darkness would have been total. A sort of heaviness weighed on the Elf’s heart with each step. His ingrown aversion to the depths of the earth was making every breath harder to breathe. The ground began sloping downward, and the floor became slick with sediment. A small voice inside him screamed for him to turn back, to escape this dank pit and the horrid Dwarf leading him ever deeper into his worst nightmare. But he did not heed its pleading. Instead, he lifted his chin a little higher, and strode on.

Suddenly, the ground leveled off and Legolas found himself in the cave aforementioned. The floor was muddied, and water dripped from the ceiling. As had been said, ditches had been etched into the ground to contain the flow once freed. Kori waved the torch slowly this way and that, as if inspecting the stone. Then he turned and faced the Elf.

“Listen,” he said.

Legolas did so. There was a low gurgling sound coming from above him.

“That’s what we need you to reach,” said the Dwarf, lifting his torch high, and shedding light on the rocky roof. The ceiling was about 3 feet above Legolas’ head. He would need something like a ladder to stand on, or perhaps he could find a large box….A grin hidden in the darkness stole over his face at the sudden memory.

“Now, I know it is a bit high, even for you,” Kori began, “so there is a ladder in the far corner over there. Some of my kinsman attempted to break through already, but the height was simply too much of a strain for them. They left their picks and a hammer down here as well.”
The Dwarf made his way to one side of the cave and sure enough, the needed equipment was exactly where he had said. An unlit torch was placed in a small iron ring protruding from the wall. Standing on the end of his toes, Kori lit the torch and faced the Elf once more.

“Well, I believe that’s it,” he said, grinning. “It is all yours, my friend! Now, if you need any assistance, I shall be overseeing the clearing of a new branch of caverns to the east side. As soon as the water is freed, the rest will take care of itself. Any questions?”

“I cannot think of any.”

“Very well, then! I shall leave you to your work.” With a bow, Kori turned and began marching back up the path. Legolas watched him go, with a mixture of relief and apprehension. He was now left alone, with nothing but a pick, a hammer, and the sound of gurgling water to combat the fear and aloneness that only the heart of a mountain could bring.

He stood there in the semi-darkness for a long moment, listening, feeling. But this only caused his heart to beat faster and his breath to quicken.

Enough of this, he told himself mentally. Move.

Legolas made his way over to the tools. He knelt down, hefting the hammer in his hands as if testing the weight of a weapon. His eyes followed the ladder all the way up to its top, judging the length and sturdiness of the object. The ladder was solid and the rungs were wide; obviously they were made for Dwarven hands and feet. The Elf knew he would have little problem scaling it. He chose a pick that looked the least used. A feeling of satisfaction washed some of his foreboding away. No matter what the Dwarf had said, Elves did indeed use picks and hammers, although perhaps not in the same way. Some of his kindred were sculptors, fashioning beautiful images out of a mound of shapeless stone. Dwarven hands formed chiseled walls and hefty columns. Impressive as they were, they were not beautiful.

Ah, to see my kindred in Imladris once more, Legolas thought as he mounted the ladder and began to climb. Their craftsmanship is truly something to behold.

As he had surmised, within moments the ladder was scaled. The sound of the burbling water above him eased the tension within his heart still more. In his mind’s eye, Legolas could see the Nimrodel, could hear the songs the Elves sung of her and the stream that bore her name. This brook had a different voice: one of stone and earth. Yet the unmistakable voice of the water soothed him.

He set the pick, lifted the hammer up for the first strike, and began.

***********

Sweat dripped off the end of his nose. Legolas ran a hand over his face, but perspiration was soon trailing down again. His neck ached from its prolonged position, and his hands were beginning to grow numb from the repetition of the strikes. But this was not what was causing the beads of liquid to pool on his forehead.

The cave had grown steadily hotter. Elf as he was, the heat had not bothered him for a long time. But the intensity had increased to such an extent that even he felt its force.

Legolas stopped working abruptly, letting the tools fall from his grip. Something was not right. He took a moment to allow his body to relax, and then leapt off the ladder, landing lightly on his feet. Quickly, he swiped the lone torch from its ring and went to the far side of the cave.
The heat grew the closer he got to the stone wall. By the time he reached it, the temperature was nearly unbearable. Hesitantly, Legolas placed a hand on the rocky surface. Instantly, he jerked it away, swearing aloud. It was almost as if a fire had been lit within the stone. Legolas began rubbing his hand feverishly up and down his tunic to ease the pain, but stopped short.
A noise was coming from beyond the stone. It was distant, but approaching fast. A hissing. Legolas’ brow furrowed in confusion. What was that? The ground began vibrating beneath him, and the Elf took a step backwards. What was happening? But suddenly a memory gripped him, so fully that he almost thought he heard the words.

Legolas! Dago han! Dago han! And then the world had seemed to be torn asunder. Helm’s Deep’s great wall had been breached. And what had defeated the stone? Fire….

Legolas turned and ran. He made for the entrance passage and leapt into it, just as an explosion ripped through the cave wall. The blast of heat nearly overwhelmed the Elf altogether, and his senses were skewed. Rock and debris rained down on him as he lay in the passage, his arms shielding his head. Dust and smoke hung heavy in the air, and Legolas began coughing lest he choke. The world spun, and the earth trembled.

Suddenly, a new noise split through the fog in Legolas’ head. Shrill cries and shrieking voices pierced the cave. The Elf knew that sound only too well from his hated trek through Moria.
Goblins.

Struggling to his feet, Legolas turned and looked back into the cave. Goblins were scrambling through the newly blown entrance like ants from a disturbed ant-hill. Their voices echoed off the walls until the sound was almost deafening. All of them were armed, and their small bodies and bowed legs were protected by random pieces of armor. They filled the cave, screaming, looking about themselves, completely frenzied. One caught sight of the Elf and gave a loud cry, pointing his sword in his direction. At least 20 pairs of Goblin eyes turned and fixed on him. Legolas’ hands went to his back, but the familiar feel of knife handles was not there.

That was when they charged.

Still disoriented, Legolas stumbled back up the passage. He scooped up a stone, turned and ran a few paces backwards. Then he faced his pursuers. The Goblin horde was gaining fast, even with the uneven terrain. The one who had sounded the alarm was in the front of the line, presumably the leader. He gnashed his teeth as he half ran half climbed his way to the Elf. Legolas took aim at the leader, his eyes locking onto his target. He steadied his arm, and then threw the stone with as much force as he could muster. But even as he released the rock, his vision blurred miserably. The rock struck true, but it was a mere glancing blow.

The Goblin yowled in pain, grabbing his head and shaking it miserably back and forth. The horde stopped short, snarling in surprise and rage.

Legolas took the opportunity to retreat a few paces back, collecting what ammunition he could from the ground. If he was to be killed, it would not be said that he ran from this confrontation.