OFAS | By : Redgecco Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 963 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Title: Of Fire and Stars (Part 2)
Author: Gecco
Rating: R (for extreme violence, in later chapters)
Warnings: Major Gimli Angst
Disclaimer: I’m not making any profit off this. With the exception of a few of the original characters, Gimli and all the other characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien (who’s probably spinning in his grave as we speak).
Summary: Gandalf finds out what happened to Gimli in the year while he and Thorin’s company were away on their Quest. Takes place during “The Hobbit”, don’t like Dwarves or Gimli then don’t read this fic.
Notes: This is Book-version, not the Movie version. If you’re interested in seeing and getting an idea of what ‘my’ Gimli looks like, then check out some of my pics in the gallery at the Axe-Bow website and my Elfwood gallery. A huge thanks again to my lovely Beta-reader Miss Madam Morrighan!
New note: Another big thank you, to Little My for double beta-reading this ^_^!
“It started a month after you and father left…
“Old Bara, the mine owner, finally died. Everyone knew his health had been deteriorating over the last year. I was amazed that he’d lasted as long as he had. If you ask me, I think someone was slipping poison into his nightly ale.
“Well... that meant Rowell, that snake son of his, was now in charge of the mine. We all knew nothing good would come of it, but we needed the work, so what could we do?” said Gimli, with a small shrug of his shoulders.
“Strangely, it seemed that our fears had been for nothing. He didn’t change the hours or cut our wages, he even closed the mine for two whole days during the Sickle Moon festival. Except for his unexplained trips away from town, nothing seemed amiss. Everything was running as smooth as glass.
“Since Da and Uncle Oin had left, Ulfr moved into the barn with me to keep me company. Shala finally had her third baby, and Brayak finally finished that ugly sword he’s been making for the last year. Some people left and Nidi’s father was finally able to buy that old shack behind the bakery, but otherwise everything was just the same as it always was,” he sighed, still staring into the flames of their fire.
Gandalf listened quietly from his seat next to the young Dwarf, his staff lying next to him as he watched two birds some distance away swoop and glide in the clear afternoon sky. Any who knew Gandalf knew he was an excellent storyteller (and he never passed up the opportunity to tell a story ‘properly’) but he was also an excellent listener, absorbing everything that was said, as he was doing now.
“Then we got word that the coal mine to the south of us, Green Ridge, had been shut down because of a sudden outbreak of plague. So now the demand for Black Hollow coal had doubled. We thought nothing of it, outbreaks of plague being so common and all. Their loss would be our gain, the work was now constant, the Orcs seemed to have disappeared, and the profit was up.
“One thing though… a week before we got news of Green Ridge, Rowell replaced all the coal wagon drivers with some Men he’d hired on one of his absence. Strange lot-- always kept to themselves, never had anything to do with us working the mine or even the townsfolk.
“But aside from that, everything seemed fine. Some of the town elders even started thinking that maybe the responsibility of running the mine had mellowed him. But we Dwarves kept to our suspicions. A snake can change its skin, but it’s still a snake.”
“I really wish that we had been wrong, Gandalf,” Gimli said quietly, turning his troubled gaze to the silently listening wizard at his side. Gandalf only nodded, urging Gimli to go on with his tale. Taking a deep breath, the Dwarf turned his gaze back to the fire and continued his story.
“For weeks things were quiet as usual, but then that all changed…
“I was on the day shift in the mines that week. We had only a couple more hours to go before the shift was done and the next shift took over. Me and Ulfr were talking about doing some sparring after we got off, maybe see if Svior wanted to join us, when Morris, one of the Men, yelled down the shaft that the town’s meetings bell was ringing. These town meeting had become all too common since Rowell had inherited the mine, and they were almost always a waste of time. So we all stopped our work and made our way back up the shafts…”
~~~
“I wonder what this one’s going to be about?” asked Ulfr with a yawn, as he and Gimli trudged side by side up the maze of dark tunnels with all the other mine workers, the tunnels echoing with their voices and footsteps.
“My guess is that there was a raid on one of the coal wagons. Either that, or Rowell just wants to make another speech on how to mine coal ‘properly’ again,” snorted Gimli, shifting the heavy pickaxe he was holding to his shoulder.
“Telling Dwarves how to mine coal ‘properly! Can you imagine!?” grumbled a short Dwarf walking behind the two.
“Has that spoiled brat ever even set foot in this mine?” asked a Man walking in front of them, looking over his shoulder.
“And get all dirty?! Are you mad?!” snorted Ulfr in a snobbish high-pitched voice. He was walking with his head held high, nose in the air (as if there was a bad smell), and a swagger in his step, while he held his shovel at his hip like a sword in its scabbard. This had the other workers walking around them laughing as they watched Ulfr do a very good impression of the haughty mine owner.
Ulfr was Gimli’s best friend, a rambunctious Dwarf and a bit of a clown (or as Gloin would say, a loud-mouthed, smart-ass). He was always up for some fun and adventure, with Gimli usually along for the ride (which thrilled the longsuffering Gloin no end).
Some of the duo’s more interesting stunts included getting drunk and having a fistfight on the roof of the town’s tavern, being chased by an angry pack of traveling monks (something Ulfr said had apparently upset them), and having occasional games of ‘drunk tossing’ at the local tavern. And their most infamous incident, when the duo tied a local pimp to the back of a large pig to ‘teach him some manners’ (after spotting said pimp beating one of his hookers). It took six Men almost an entire day of chasing the squealing pig through the streets of Black Hallow before they were able to corner it and free the rather worse for wear pimp. It was still a local mystery as to how the two had done it.
When they finally reached the entrance to the mine, the large, sweaty and soot-covered group of Dwarves and Men stopped for a few moments to let their eyes adjust. Even on an overcast day such as this one, the light still stung their eyes after so long in the black of the mines. Following that came the usual spitting, picking and hacking in the vain attempt to dislodge the day’s accumulated dust from their eyes, ears and noses. When their eyes had finally adjusted they continued on down the incline to the road, laughing and joking with one another. Gimli and Ulfr threw the occasional dirt clod and friendly insult at one another, enjoying their shortened workday.
But as they reached Black Hollow they began to notice a strange silence. Everything looked deserted. Even with a town meeting going on there should have some activity-- people running errands and such, children playing, something, but there was nothing. Only the occasional gust of wind stirred in the empty street as the now quiet group made its way through the small town.
Then they smelled them…
Gimli knew that reek only too well.
“Orcs!” he and several other Dwarves shouted in warning to the Men of their group, whose poorer sense of smell would have noticed nothing amiss. They couldn’t see them, just the empty dirt road and the shabby gray cobblestone buildings of the town, but their stench was thick in the air.
Gimli supposed there must have been an attack on the town while they had been down in the mines. Yet strangely nothing looked destroyed; no burning buildings, no bodies, everything was just empty.
Everyone was tense as they prepared for the Orcs to spring upon them at any moment as they crept through town. Gimli wished for his axes as he tightened his grip on the pickaxe he held, scanning the town for any movement. A quick glance to his left showed Ulfr doing much the same, his shovel at the ready as he looked about with narrowed eyes. Luckily most of the mine workers still had their picks and shovels. They weren’t proper weapons but they would do. Gimli could see the determination in his companions: they would not go down without a fight.
Several of the Men and Dwarves who had families wanted to go to their homes to check on them, but the shift leader ordered them all to stay together and not split up.
All was deathly silent as they reached the town center in front of the Blacksmith’s shop. The town bell hung near the open shop, still lightly swinging from its earlier ringing.
“Who rang the bell? I still see no one,” said a large Man by the name of Erick, in a whisper as he looked warily about.
“Maybe it was an Orc,” said Buri, a Dwarf to Gimli’s right.
“Hush!” ordered Hanar, the shift leader. Hanar Fastgeirr was the oldest Dwarf in Black Hollow and well respected by Dwarves and Men alike.
He was heavily scarred from old battles, including a massive disfiguring scar along the whole left side of his face, from when a troll had cut off part of his face (it was still a mystery as to how he lived to tell the tale). Those who worked the mine looked to him for leadership, even the Men (which displeased the town elders to no end). He reminded Gimli a lot of his relative, old Balin, except Hanar was actually older and more of an old warrior then Balin ever was.
Suddenly the stillness was broken by a sound coming from the dark depths of the open shop. It was the solitary tread of boots and what sounded like the hiccupping whimpers of a crying child coming their way.
Hanar motioned for the group to hold and stay silent. They all tensed, ready to attack as a tall figure made its way out of the shadows and into the light just outside of the open doors of the shop, yet well away from the stunned, confused and agitated group of mine workers.
The man was tall with a slim build, dressed in fine, well-made clothes. He wore long black boots, black breeches with a deep blue tunic, and a finely made white cloak over his shoulders. He also wore several gold chains about his neck and rings on his uncallussed hands and a gold handled sword in an intricate scabbard at his hip. Clean-shaven with long wheat colored hair, and a straight nose, he would have been quite handsome if not for the ugly sneer that seemed forever etched on his face.
In his arms he carried a small curly-haired toddler; she was crying as she pushed and hit the man with all her might. But she was so small the man holding her hardly took notice, instead he looked over their group as one would a pack of mangy, begging dogs.
“NeNe! What are you doing with my child!” cried a heavyset man by the name of Farin, as he pushed his way to the front of the group to stand by Hanar. The child, recognizing her father’s voice, turned then held out her short chubby arms to him in a futile attempt to reach him, whimpering.
“What is the meaning of this, Rowell?!” demanded Farin angrily as he moved to take his daughter from the Man holding her. Yet all Rowell did was smile and move the struggling tot to his hip, then snapped his fingers with his free hand. At the snap Orcs suddenly boiled out from everywhere, yelling and shrieking.
“Stay together! Back to back!” ordered Hanar, as the Orcs swarmed around them blocking any escape. They were surrounded, yet the Orcs did not attack. Instead they shrieked and cursed at them in their foul tongue, shaking their scimitars. The ones with bows had them bent at the ready. The motley group of Dwarves and Men roared their own challenges, daring the Orcs to come within striking distance of their picks and shovels.
“Enough!” came an order in a deep hissing voice, and all the Orcs immediately quieted, still keeping their weapons trained on the soot-covered group.
Some of the orcs moved to make room for the smugly swaggering Rowell and a large powerfully-built goblin that towered at his side. The goblin wore dark ill-repaired, mismatched armor. It was clear that this must have been the goblins chief, as well as the one to give the order for silence. NeNe, whom Rowell still carried, had stopped crying, her small form shaking in fright, her large blue eyes wide as she stared in terror at the monsters around her.
“Traitor!”
“Deceiver!”
“Son of a whore!”
“Orc licker!”
“ Murderer!” several of the group bellowed in rage at the bored-looking mine owner.
“Now, now! Such language in front of one so young! What do you think about that, child? Very rude, don’t you think?” he asked the terrified toddler sweetly as if he were some kindly uncle. When she didn’t acknowledge him he took hold of her face and forced her to look at him, causing her to cry out.
“Don’t you touch her, you bastard! I’ll kill you!” shouted the enraged Farin. Only the swords and spear points of the orcs kept him from charging the mine owner.
“What is the meaning of this, Rowell? You worm! Have you no honor!? You have betrayed us all to the goblins-- is that not enough? Now you must terrorize an innocent babe? Leave her be!” demanded Hanar, his feet planted firmly, head held high in challenge. If there is one thing that most Dwarves cannot tolerate, it is the harming of a child or a Woman.
Rowell let go of NeNe’s face and turned to glare at the old Dwarf, ignoring the enraged Farin.
“Hanar.” He spat the name as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. “If you wish to keep that hideous head of yours on your shoulders, you will watch your wagging tongue! I am in control; I give the orders! Not Father! Not you! Not those senile old fools that think they rule this town! I rule!!” He was by now shouting angrily at Hanar and the others, and little NeNe started whimpering again. Then as if realizing the unseemliness of his outburst, he calmed and the sneer returned to his flushed face.
“As for the ‘why’, it’s very simple; profit. Now that the Green Ridge mine is out of the way and the Gillnine mine in the east will be very soon, Black Hollow will be the only reliable source of coal for the whole region. With coal being in such high demand, and me not having to share the earnings…well, you get the idea.”
“You’re a fool! Who will mine the coal-- you? These goblins?” asked Ulfr sarcastically, standing next to Gimli and holding his shovel at the ready.
“O’ course not. You will!” laughed the chief goblin at Rowell’s side.
“I’d rather be dead!” growled Gimli, eyes flashing with a barely controlled fire. Ulfr and many of the others echoed his sentiments.
“He speaks for all of us! We will not work for traitorous filth like you!” said Hanar, glaring angrily.
“Oh, you’ll be very good workers… won’t they, child?” he said, turning to the silently shivering tot on his hip. “If they don’t, I’ll just have to let the orcs have their sport with your mother and all the other women and children, won’t I?” It was clear to all what he meant to hang over them to get them to work.
“How-w do we know that you-u haven’t k-k-killed them all r-ready?” stuttered one of the Men.
At this, Rowell let out a longsuffering sigh. He then gave the goblin chief a nod of his chin, who bellowed out a few orders in the grating Black speech.
There came a sudden commotion from further down the street to their left, in the direction leading out of town. They could not see what was happening (the orcs around them were blocking their view) but they could hear the sound of many running feet and the snapping of whips with the occasional grunt. A few orcs to their left moved out of the way to let another group of battered Men and Dwarves be driven in to join their surrounded group, closing the gap as soon as the last Man was through.
It was the workers from the night shift as well as a few Men in town that didn’t work the mines. Most were beaten and bruised, and some Men and Dwarves from the night shift were missing as well. No doubt there had been a struggle when the Goblins took over.
“We couldn’t stop them, they came upon us so fast! He has all the women and children in the tavern under heavy guard,” said the night shift leader as the Man limped over to the old Dwarf.
He was only about a foot taller than Hanar and much more wiry in build compared to the broad-shouldered Dwarf. He was a dark-skinned Man with deep black eyes and short brown hair by the name of Noko. He was usually good-humored in nature, slow to anger, and a bit stuck in his ways.
“They’re alive?”
“Where are the others?”
“My wife, is she okay?”
“My children, are they all there?”
“Where’s my brother?”
There was a flurry of questions as many of the day shift workers bombarded the newcomers for news of their loved ones. But Rowell broke in, silencing them.
“They’re safe… for the time being. But we unfortunately had some casualties-- orcs can get a bit carried away, but that was to be expected,” he said with a shrug, as if it was no great loss.
“Traitorous pig!” Noko spat at him, hate shining in his dark eyes, and the others shouted their own insults. Rowell’s blue eyes narrowed in irritation at the glaring group.
“If you wish them to stay safe, you’ll do as you’re told!” he snapped, then a big grin stretched over his face. “Won’t you…?”
~~~
“And that’s just what we did,” Gimli said quietly to the flames of their small fire.
Gandalf listened beside him, picturing the small gloomy mining town nestled between two small eroding mountains that seemed nothing more then two huge piles of cracked and broken stones. Only a few gnarled black trees lived there, their bent forms seeming to weep from their gray surroundings.
Altogether a miserable place, the wizard thought to himself.
Gimli’s broad hands were clenched into fists, their thick knuckles white from the strain. But aside from that and the haunted look in his eyes, there was no outward sign of the turbulent emotions that Gandalf knew must be roiling just under the Dwarf’s quietly brooding surface.
“The orcs clapped us in chains, and we were forced to go back and mine the coal for that black-hearted worm. Most of us would have gladly chosen death rather then be a slave, maybe try and take out as many of those foul creatures as we could before being cut down. But we couldn’t-- he’d kill the women and little ones. Almost all of them were Humans, but they did have Lady Hildr and her three little ones as well as Nidi’s mother and baby brother. So we could do nothing but do as we were told. I don’t know how long they kept us down there; felt like years, not letting us see open sky or get fresh air.
“They beat us for anything they liked: we weren’t working fast enough, we were talking, or just ‘cause they felt like it. They only gave us their leftover scraps to eat-- I don’t even want to imagine what half of it was. For our water they brought down a horse trough. Most of the time it was brackish from the coal dust, and they delighted in us seeing them spitting or pissing in it. Thankfully we had jugs and canisters of food hidden throughout the mine, in case of cave-ins, that they didn’t know about. Probably the only thing that kept us all alive,” said Gimli, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing his story.
“Rowell would visit occasionally to gloat, telling us about all the fabulous amounts of gold he was making because of us, and to ‘keep up the good work‘. Always reminding us what he held over our heads, sometimes he’d even bring news of the others, or a message from someone’s wife or child.
“At the same time every day the goblins would let us all rest for three hours, but that was it. I only suppose the reason we were allowed that was because they still needed us to mine the coal for them. By the first week we all took to only using Iglishmek (1.) to talk with one another. Those stupid filth eaters had no idea that we were insulting them and plotting our revenge.
“After the first couple of weeks it then became clear why Rowell had replaced all the wagon drivers; the Men he had hired were in league with him,” Gimli snorted in disgust, still gazing at the fire. “They’d continued delivering the coal and bringing back the supplies and food (that we never got), like everything was normal in Black Hollow.”
“As you know, not many people go to the Hollow, bypassing it for Shiprock in the valley, and those that do come are mostly looking for work. The few poor souls that did come were either killed by the orcs or thrown in with the rest of us.
“After about the first two weeks most of the Men had started to drop; the soot and work were too much for them. So Rowell made them shovel and carry the coal down to the storage sheds in town-- under strict guard, of course-- so’s they’d last longer. They kept us Dwarves chained in the lower shafts, mining, most of the time in complete darkness. I was chained at first with seven other Dwarves and Men but after several weeks-- it could have been months for all I knew, only Ulfr, Svior, Nidi, and me were left shackled together. The others had dropped from exhaustion to be dragged away by the orcs or moved and chained to another group.”
“That day they had my group in shaft six, and the two orcs watching us had set up a table with two stools, on the other side of the tunnel. Those two lazy scavengers sat there talking and arguing, drinking ale (stolen out of the town tavern) out of good pewter mugs, as we labored, hungry and thirsty.”
~~~
The ceiling of shaft six was low, low enough that a tall Man would have to duck his head, but it was also one of the wider tunnels. The orc’s table was set up against the far wall of the black tunnel, across from the prisoners. This allowed the two orcs watching the chain gang of four to sit and drink without worrying about flying debris from the workers.
The only light in the tunnels was from small clumps of luminous lichen growing in a glass cups specially fitted to the sides of the walls throughout the mine. It illuminated the tunnel in a soft milky glow, giving just enough light to work by. The lichen, or what the mine workers called “Pixy-hair”, was what they used for light instead of torches for fear of setting off the coal dust and the rest of the mine.
The group of four Dwarves worked steadily at the wall, three using picks and the fourth shoveling the coal bits into a large coal cart. The four were bare from the waist up and completely black, looking almost identical if not for their varying heights and eye color. They each wore a large, thick collar of heavy iron about their necks, connected together by a length of chain. The sound of chains clinking and the ring of pickaxes on stone with the occasional crack of a whip were constant noises throughout the tunnels and shafts of the mine.
A sudden commotion started down one of the other tunnels-- shaft three, if the echoes told true-- drawing the attention of the Dwarves and orcs. As the commotion continued they could start to make out what sounded to be a fight going on-- yelling, cursing and the clash of weapons.
The two orcs got up from their stools and ran quickly down the tunnel and around the bend leading to the other mine shafts, leaving their unfinished ale and the unguarded Dwarves behind. The orcs had no fear of the them escaping, the end of their long connecting chain being locked to one of the tunnel’s thick wooden support beams that were placed strategically throughout the mine shafts to keep the tunnels stable.
“What’s going on?” signed Svior in Iglishmek to the other three, motioning with his shovel. All of them had stopped working to take advantage of the unexpected break from the backbreaking labor.
“Sounds like a fight to me. What do you think, Gimli?” signed Ulfr, dropping his pickaxe in relief before looking to the black figure that stood listening beside him.
“It’s a fight, all right,” Gimli signed back with a nod, tossing down his own pickaxe as well.
“Maybe it’s an uprising and the others are trying to overthrow Rowell,” suggested Nidi, still holding on to his pick with uncertainty. He was a soft-spoken Dwarf by nature, and was generally considered a bit of a soft touch.
He was also the youngest of their group at fifty-eight, though they were all young. The oldest was the sixty-four year old Svior, and Gimli and Ulfr were both sixty-two. It was strange luck that the four found themselves chained together now, when they had been friends long before Rowell’s treachery. Being young and of similar ages, and the older Dwarves not giving them much notice, they hung around together getting into all kinds of mischief. Or more precisely, Ulfr and Gimli got into trouble and dragged the other two along.
“No, listen to the ring of the strikes. That’s orc blades on orc blades,” Gimli signed in answer, though his attention was no longer on that of the commotion but on something across the tunnel from them.
“He’s right, you can tell by that creaking twang of their scimitars. Shoddy work,” signed Ulfr, shaking his head.
“But why?” signed Nidi back, finally dropping his pickaxe.
“Maybe they realized they’ve been wiping their asses with fire leaves. How the hump should I know?” signed Ulfr back exasperatedly (if one can ‘sign’ exasperation) and in turn getting a warning glare from Svior.
All three of their shoulders slumped in disappointment, and Nidi let out a dejected sigh, but then a tug on their collars distracted them. Turning their attention in the direction of the tugging they saw Gimli making his way to the small table the orcs had abandoned, chain dragging behind him.
“Gimli! What are you doing?” signed Nidi frantically.
“Getting some ale,” he signed back with a roll of his eyes. Reaching the table, he bypassed the two pewter mugs and picked up the large half full pitcher. Then with a great flourish he took a large swig out of it, closing his eyes to savor the taste. With a toothy smirk, his teeth gleaming a brilliant white in his sooty face, he offered the pitcher to the stunned three.
“Want some?” he asked, his deep brown eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Are you daft!? The guards could be back any moment! What if they catch you? They’ll beat you again for sure, Gimli! Maybe all of us!” signed Nidi frantically, working himself up into a panic. “They’ll shave off our beards, maybe all our hair! Cut off all our fingers and toes, bite off our noses and ears, hang us up by our testicles, boil us in oil, stick hot pokers in our eyes, peel off all our skin while we’re still alive!” He gave a yelp as Ulfr smacked him upside the head, cutting off his tirade.
“Damn, Nit! I don’t know what’s worse-- you or the orcs,” he signed as he glared at Nidi, who was rubbing the back of his smarting head, looking embarrassed under the miffed scrutiny of the others (except Svior who was glaring holes through Ulfr). Then Ulfr turned and swaggered over to Gimli with a wide smile, chain clinking behind him.
“I think I could use a drink, too. Hand it over,” he signed, taking the dirty pitcher from Gimli. He took a long swig of his own before then handed it to Svior who also took a drink before moving off in the direction of the continuing disturbance, to keep watch in case their guards came back. Gimli and Ulfr even managed to get the nervous Nidi to take a few sips of the ale as well.
Nidi, being the youngest, was always treated by the others like a little brother (much to his great annoyance). But what the orcs and Men didn’t know was that Nidi was also a hermaphrodite, though it was quite obvious to all his fellow Dwarves, what with his scent and softer facial features.
“Oy, remember when we stole Bombur’s clothes while he was in the smoke house at the Bronzing festival last summer, and he had to run naked through the crowed to get to the supply tents to find some new clothes?” signed Ulfr, in an attempt to lighten the mood and take their thoughts for a little while away from their dark circumstances. Gimli put the pitcher back on the table so as not to drop it, as the memory of that sunny day made them all chuckle, even in their oppressive surroundings.
“I still have nightmares!” signed Gimli, grimacing and giving a shudder at the memory.
“Or when he stopped at the honeyed meat stand on his way,” signed Nidi, shoulders shaking in suppressed mirth.
“I thought for sure Old Fjalar was going to have a stroke!” signed Ulf, slapping his knee.
“What I want to know is why he took off his clothes to begin with! What was he doing in the smoke house?” signed Svior from where he was still keeping watch.
“I think some things should be left a mystery!” signed Gimli, and the others nodded their heads in agreement.
That was when Nidi noticed the pitcher again. The four of them had drunk a noticeable amount of the ale, and the sight of it sent all his fears rushing back.
“What will we do?! The orcs will come back and notice we drank their ale for sure!” he signed hurriedly.
“He’s right. It was horribly rude of us, wasn’t it?” signed Gimli with a mischievous look, catching Ulfr’s eye. There seemed to be a silent communication taking place between the two… then wide toothy grins split both of their faces.
“Very rude,” Ulfr signed back, picking up the pitcher again.
“Hurry up with whatever you’re going to do! The fight’s dying down and those two snot-for-brains guards will be back soon.” signed Svior from his lookout position. Nidi came over to him and looked nervously over the older Dwarf’s shoulder, ignoring the occasional clinking of chain and tug at his collar as the other two behind him did whatever it was that they were doing. His hand on Svior’s bare shoulder trembled ever so slightly, and he jumped when he felt Svior put a broad hand on top of his and give it a reassuring squeeze. Just a simple touch, yet it conveyed so much.
With a clinking of chains Gimli and Ulfr suddenly appeared behind the two, crowding them to look down the tunnel as well. As the four listened they could hear the fighting stop altogether and the cursing and shouting die down to the usual constant, and the sounds of mining resumed. Then came the sound of the returning guards. As soon as they heard that, they quickly scrambled back to their places, picking up their dropped tools again.
Nidi took one last fearful look at the table and the almost empty pitcher of ale, and did a double-take. The pitcher was half full again.
“How did…?” he signed, looking at Ulfr and Gimli in confusion, only to be greeted with looks of complete innocence. Svior slapped his hand over his face, shaking his head with a groan. That’s when it sunk in.
“Oh…”
“What’s this?! Back ta work!!” bellowed one of the orcs, as the two came into view, one carrying a club, the other a whip. The one with the whip then proceeded to give each of them a few harsh lashes, causing them to grunt and yelp in pain, while the other orc yawned sleepily as he sat back down on one of the stools by the table. After the other orc was done lashing the four, satisfied that the pained and glaring Dwarves were working at a proper pace, he joined the other at the small table.
“Stupid dirt-diggers! They‘ll taste the lash again if they don’t keep working!” he snarled to his companion, who was pouring himself a mug from the pitcher, before it was snatched from him. Some of it splashed on the table as the second orc poured some into his own mug. They both took long drafts of the liquid.
“I’ve had piss that tasted better then this here beer!” complained the one with the club, glaring at his mug after slamming it down on the table.
“That be the last of the beer in town, so if ya don’t like it, tough tit!” said the orc with the whip, taking another swig from his mug.
“Ah, shut your yap!” snarled the other orc before gulping down the rest of it, then refilling his mug and having the pitcher snatched away again. Neither orc noticed the pleased looks in the eyes of the working Dwarves, who watched them as they finished the last of the ‘ale’ as they argued and talked.
~~~
Later that day the four were resting, along with all the other prisoners. The goblins had crowded them all into a large chamber on the second level of the mine, and most were sleeping in complete exhaustion on the floor. The workers had originally used the large chamber to keep the coal carts and coal ponies (the ponies long since eaten by the orcs) while they worked. The chamber allowed the goblins to watch all the prisoners and only worry about guarding one entrance and exit during the prisoners’ one rest period.
Gimli lay on his side in the dark, arms crossed, trying to ignore the steel collar digging into his neck, as he listened to the snores and coughing of his fellow prisoners in the dark. Exhausted as he was, he couldn’t sleep for some reason, so he let his mind wander to other things.
What would Daira, his brother, do if he were here? Had his father and the others made it to the Mountain yet? How would they kill Smaug? Where was Myia now? (And how glad he was that she had run off with a young man by the name of Dreak only a week prior to the orc’s takeover.)
He had been there, along with Ulfr and Myia’s sister Shala, to wish them luck and to warn Dreak to take good care of her and to always make her happy. Or Gimli son of Gloin would track him down and rip off his arms. Myia had laughed at this and had given him a playful swat, but Dreak had looked quite pale. Then with a final hug for Shala and kiss on the cheek for Gimli, they watched the couple ride away, leaving them and the gray town behind.
Gimli lay back to back with Svior, who in turn was spooned up with Nidi. The occasional soft gasp, moan and small rustle of movement from behind Gimli spoke that at least two of his fellow prisoners were trying to take some small measure of comfort in one another, despite their bleak surroundings. As cold and tired as everyone was, no one begrudged those that found comfort in another’s arms. Ulfr, who lay with his back to him, kept fidgeting before finally turning around to face Gimli.
“Can’t sleep either?” he signed, and Gimli gave an affirmative nod. Ulfr lifted his head and looked over Gimli’s shoulder to the couple behind him before rolling his amber-colored eyes and laying back down, his collar making a muffed clink as it made contact with the stone floor.
“Those two, at it again! I don’t know how they find the energy,” he signed with a tired yawn. Gimli gave another nod and a yawn of his own.
“I don’t know about Nidi, but Svior told me a while back that Nidi might be ‘the one‘, so leave them be,” he signed back. Both of Ulfr’s eyebrows shot up in a look of surprise.
“Really?” Then he frowned and gave a sad shake of his head, thinking of their circumstances, knowing that they’d all probably be dead soon. They both fell still and the quiet stretched out, broken only by the occasional grunt or cough from one of the other prisoners around them.
They could hear Hanar, the old shift leader, arguing heatedly with one of the higher-ranking goblins about something, right outside of the crowded chamber. Hanar and Noko both wore iron collars like the other prisoners, but unlike the rest they were not chained so they could move around. Even the orcs were aware of how dangerous the mine was, so there was still a need for someone with experience and an intimate knowledge of the mine to keep a lookout for potential disasters. After all, the orcs were in the mine too, and would share their prisoners’ fate if the mine collapsed. So the two shift leaders, Hanar and Noko, were allowed to roam free in the mine, doing what they had done before Rowell’s betrayal, supervising and keeping an eye out for potential dangers. But after Noko had been beaten to death two weeks prior, for stepping in to defend a fellow prisoner from two drunk orcs, Hanar had been forced to do the job of two.
“Where are you?” Ulfr asked, shaking Gimli from his thoughts.
“Thinking,” he answered, turning his focus back to Ulfr’s amused amber-colored eyes and soot-covered face.
“What about?”
“Da, Erebor, Myia,” signed Gimli with a shrug.
Ulfr thought about Thorin’s company and their quest, with their wizard guide Tharkun (Staff-man or better known as Gandalf), to take back the Lonely Mountain. It seemed like it had been another lifetime ago that he had stood by Gimli watching his grumpy father Gloin and the others walk away down the dusty gray road and finally out of sight. Watching them disappear over the horizon anything had seemed possible, and both he and Gimli had been full of certainty that the quest would succeed.
It all seemed so futile now, he thought to himself as he studied the brown-eyed Dwarf lying just a few inches in front of him. He must look similar-- tired, hungry, tan skin now completely pitch from the coal soot. Gimli’s long, dark copper-colored hair was now tangled and black from filth. The whites of his eyes, startling in the black, strong-featured face, surrounded deep brown pools flecked with gold. They blazed with a fire that burned undiminished, maybe even hotter than before.
“We could sure use some of Tharkun’s magic about now,” Ulfr signed, and Gimli gave a grunt in agreement. The oppressive reality had started to creep back again before Ulfr broke the silence (except for the background noise of the argument still in full swing) once more. “As for Myia, she’s probably doing better than us. Probably causing a ruckus somewhere with Dreak along for the ride,” he smiled. “Remember when you two first met?” he signed, laughter crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“How could I forget? This shapely raven-haired Woman gives me a free ale with a wink. Then when I’m not looking, she grabs my bum, making me spit my ale on uncle Oin,” Gimli signed back with a wiggle of his eyebrows, chuckling softly.
“The look on Oin’s face alone was worth a bag of gold!” Ulfr signed, barely suppressing his laughter at the memory. “Or how about when she punched that drunk right in th--”
But whatever he was going to say was lost as the large orc that Hanar was arguing with suddenly stomped into the chamber, kicking any of the exhausted prisoners not fast enough to get out of his way. He was followed by several smaller goblins and a red-faced Hanar, who was growing even more angered by the large orc’s callous treatment of his fellow prisoners. Many were too tired to even wake at the ruckus that was happening around them.
“You can’t have six! Two, I told ya! Ya can have two! Ya stupid dirt grubber!” The hulking orc stopped in the middle of the chamber, and turned to yell at the Dwarf. His ugly face with its black and twisted rotting teeth was only centimeters from the Hanar’s, who was only barely restraining himself from beating the sneering orc’s face in.
“This is a job for six, at the very least five Dwarves!” he ground out through clenched teeth, glaring daggers.
“I told ya! Ya can onl--,”
“If you don’t want to be buried alive in the next hour, you will let me have the workers I need, before this mine collapses around us all! NOW!!” Hanar bellowed back at the massive orc, fists clenched.
The orc seemed a bit taken aback by this, the danger perhaps finally sinking in, before his ugly rubbery lips twisted back into their frown. The creature then straightened to his full, height looking imperiously down his long scaly nose at the glowering old Dwarf. There was a long pregnant pause, then the orc spoke.
“Fine-- ya can have four,” he said, then he turned to one of the goblins standing behind him. “Hey you! Go get four prisoners, now!” he ordered. Then he turned back to Hanar, his voice dripping with menace and threat.
“If ya ever speak to me like that again, I’ll fix the other side of ya face to match the left one! And don’t think about tryin’ nuthin’!” the orc hissed, as Hanar glared right back. Then with an imperious turn the orc stomped out of the crowded chamber, prisoners and goblins alike scrambling to get out of his way.
“What’s going on?” asked Svior, who had sat up like Gimli and Ulfr at the large orc’s loud entrance into the chamber. Nidi sat wide-eyed next to him as they tried to make out what was going on in the darkness.
“I don’t know, but Hanar said something about a colla-” Ulfr’s words were cut off with a strangled yelp.
A large goblin they hadn’t noticed slinking about in the dark had grabbed the chain connected to Ulfr’s collar and given it a sudden yank. The goblin then began dragging him away. The other three, being connected on the same chain, were dragged along by their necks as well.
“Here’s four of these here Dwarves over here!” yelled the goblin, giving their chain another yank.
“They’ll do, bring ‘em over,” answered one of the orcs at the chamber’s entrance
Gimli held on to his collar, trying not to be choked as he tried to get to his feet, but he kept tripping as he and the other three were dragged over their fellow prisoners in the dark. The large goblin yanked them out of the crowded chamber and into the main tunnel leading to all the intersecting mineshafts as well as the two tunnels that led to the first level and the surface. The four finally came to a stop in front of two bored looking orcs and Hanar, who was glaring holes through the goblin dragging them.
“There you are-- four. Now get ta work!” the goblin sneered at the old Dwarf, dropping their chain before walking, followed by the other two orcs, back to a rowdy group of goblins in the entrance of one of the intersecting tunnels. It looked like they were playing a game of some sort with stones and what appeared to be live rats.
“You lads all right?” asked Hanar.
With a few groans and growls Gimli and the others climbed tiredly to their aching feet, Hanar having to help up a wobbly-legged Nidi.
Out of the corner of his eye, Svior noticed some movement as he got to his feet. He turned just in time to watch a man walk quickly down one of the intersecting tunnels that led up to the north entrance to the mine, before disappearing into the dark.
That was odd, he thought to himself, for the Man couldn’t have been a prisoner; he was too clean and wore good quality work clothes. For a second he thought it was Rowell, but he remembered that Rowell had long wheat colored hair, and the Man he had just seen had short, dark hair. Then it struck him: the Man had to have been one of the Men working for the traitor, one of the wagon drivers, perhaps. But what’s he doing down here, delivering a message or something? he thought. He decided not to ask the others about it, figuring that it was nothing important, and let the train of thought drop as he made sure Nidi was okay after being dragged from their shortened rest.
“Come on, lads. I know you’re exhausted but this is a task of the utmost importance,” Hanar sighed tiredly to them, giving them an understanding look. “Come on, we must hurry,” he urged, before starting at a crisp pace down the main tunnel leading to the upper level and the east exit of the mine.
The four shot each other questioning looks, getting only shrugs in reply. Then with a few last murderous glares at the uncaring orcs still playing their game, the four trotted (single file) tiredly after Hanar, their chains clinking like bells in the tunnels.
~~~
“So now I need you four to help me haul down one of the extra support beams we keep just inside the east entrance, down to shaft four,” Hanar explained to them as they made their way steadily through the maze of shafts and tunnels.
They passed only a few orcs in the tunnels, most of them being in the lower level playing their strange and cruel games as the prisoners rested. The orcs knew they would not try anything in fear of endangering the hostages, so the five were generally left alone as they walked through the mine.
“Who would want to damage one of the mine’s support beams?” Nidi asked.
“I don’t know, but whoever it was knew exactly where to damage it, and knows that if that section goes it will collapse the entire mine,” Hanar answered with a growl.
“Maybe it was one of the orcs that damaged it,” suggested Svior as he gave Nidi a playful bump with his shoulder, which Nidi returned, not really paying attention to what was being said.
“They wouldn’t still be down here if they planned on collapsing the mine on us. Also the damage to the wood was not from a goblin blade, it was the clean cuts of a good axe,” Hanar said, shaking his head.
“Then it couldn’t have been one of us. All we have is our picks and shovels. Not to mention none of us is that daft,” said Gimli, as he steered around the rotting remains of some unidentified creature on the floor.
“But how could someone damage it without being caught by the orcs, or at least being seen by one of us?” asked Ulfr, his lip curled in disgust as he and the others stepped over a half-eaten dead dog (orcs were not picky in the least about what they ate).
“Whoever it was must have snuck in and done it when all the goblins were fighting over that gold coin they found,” said Hanar as he stroked his normally silver (now black) beard in thought.
“So that huge fight was over a gold coin?” Svior signed in disbelief.
“That’s right, you should have seen them. You would have thought it was a couple of mithril ingots, the way they tore at each other,” Hanar signed back, his eyes narrowing in disgust at the memory as he led them up the dark tunnel.
“It doesn’t surprise me one bit. Greedy beasts, may their eyes rot out of their empty heads!” growled Gimli, hawking a spit on an unconscious orc, a broken bottle on the floor next to it, as they walked past.
“Who would want to collapse the mine? If it’s not one of the prisoners or the Orcs, maybe it’s Rowell?” signed Nidi, as he twisted his earlobe in thought. The tunnel had widened enough so that the four no longer walked single file-- Hanar leading, with Gimli and Ulfr behind, followed by Svior and Nidi.
“I don’t know…Rowell is making a ton of gold with this mine. Why would he want to destroy it? Where‘s the profit in that?” Gimli said.
Hanar was now a little farther up the tunnel as the four lagged behind. It was then that Nidi, who was deep in thought, stumbled over something that used to be part of a pony’s spine in the dark, causing him to accidentally shove Ulfr from behind, almost knocking him down.
“Oy! Watch it, Nit! Clumsy fool! Svior, can‘t you keep a leash on your wench?” Ulfr quipped sarcastically, before shoving Nidi away from him then quickly ducking Svior’s swing that was aimed for the back of his head. This in turn caused Gimli’s collar to be yanked sharply, and he in turn shoved Ulfr, who shoved him back into Svior. Nidi barely managed to stay out of the now escalating three-way shoving and insult war.
“Watch your mouth, yo-- oof!”
“Eat dirt!”
*thud*
“Stop it!”
“Ouch! Ulfr, you ass-face!”
“Prick!”
“Come on, stop it!”
*thump*
“Don’t make me get ugly!”
“Too late!”
“This, coming from the son of dragon dung!”
*smack*
“Go hump a troll!!”
“Go suck an Elf!!”
*thud, thump*
Hanar waded into them, boxing ears and yanking the three growling and cursing combatants apart, stopping the sudden fight. The three now stood quietly, shooting one another glares as they nursed sore ears and smarting heads, except Nidi who stood next to Svior looking nervous.
“What is this? I find you four fighting! Fighting like chil--”
“Nidi wasn’t fighting, Hanar,” pointed out Svior helpfully. The other two nodded their heads in agreement, their spat just a moment before seeming completely forgotten. This was probably not far from the truth, considering that the four, especially Gimli and Ulfr, were constantly getting into fights about something or other.
“Shut up! We have no time for this foolishness-- now get going, before I tan ALL your hides!” Hanar bellowed angrily at them, switching to Common. The four wisely hurried up the tunnel, trying to avoid a swift kick in the bum from the old Dwarf now bringing up the rear.
They walked in silence for a while as they made the final turn into the main tunnel. They could now see the mouth of the east entrance. The light at the end of the tunnel was almost blinding even at their distance from it, but as they came closer the light became less glaring as their eyes slowly adjusted, and they could now see two sleepy orcs guarding the door.
They finally got to where five large solid wood beams were stacked against the side wall of the tunnel, about seventeen yards away from the entrance. The two guards only gave them a bored glance before they went back to talking in the Black Speech. The five Dwarves could now see that it was sometime in the late afternoon outside by the length of the shadows, and they gazed out with longing into that world of sunlight.
“Come on, my lads,” said Hanar, bringing the four young Dwarves’ attention from the outside world just beyond the entrance, and back to the task at hand.
With sighs of disappointment and groans at seeing what they would have to carry back down, they went to work. The five shuffled into a line and prepared to pick up one of the heavy beams and carry it over their broad shoulders. The beam was so thick and heavy it would have taken nine to ten Men to lift it, but it only took five Dwarves. They had just gotten their thick hands under it, braced to lift it at Hanar’s command, when they were all almost knocked off their feet by a sudden blast of gale force wind coming from the entrance.
They, along with the two surprised Orcs, gave varying yelps and curses of surprise as they just barely managed to stay upright in the force of the air suddenly being sucked into the mine like a vacuum. The five Dwarves instinctively lowered their compact forms into a crouch, bracing against the wind as best they could, and the chain connecting the four whipped around like a ribbon in a sharp gust. They huddled together, trying to protect their eyes and faces against the stinging hits of small rocks and dirt from the hurricane-force winds as they tore at their hair and what was left of their clothes.
“WHAT’S GOING ON!!!?” shouted Gimli to Hanar, trying to be heard over the wind as he shielded his face with his thick muscular forearms.
But before Hanar could yell back an answer, the wind stopped as suddenly as it had started, just as if it had never been. They slowly lowered their arms and straightened from their braced positions, looking around in bewilderment. They could now see that the force of the mysterious wind had sucked the two guards more than ten feet into the tunnel.
“What in Mordor was that!?” yelled Nidi, eyes wild, speaking out loud and not in Iglishmek.
The four young Dwarves turned to Hanar for answers, but he wasn’t paying attention to them, or to the two now arguing guards. Instead he stood stock-still, staring hard down the tunnel the way they had come.
“By Mahal’s hammer… protect us,” Hanar said in a hoarse whisper.
“What’s wrong, Hanar?” asked Svior.
“Do you know what that was?” asked Nidi, as Ulfr gave Hanar’s shoulder a shake.
The four fell into confused silence around the old Dwarf, waiting for him to answer as they peered down the tunnel as well, trying to see what had Hanar‘s rapt attention.
Then they heard it, and it sent icy fingers of fear through their hearts and bone-chilling shivers up their spines. Something was coming. It sounded like a strange wailing cry from down in the tunnels, growing louder as if more strange voices were joining it. Whatever it was, it was coming.
Hanar then turned to look at them, fear and dread in his dark eyes as the wailing grew to a scream. He bellowed the one word that would freeze the heart of any mine worker.
“FIRE!!!”
He shoved them towards the entrance, breaking them out of their fear-induced paralysis. He didn’t need to tell them what to do-- it was pure instinct. They ran as fast as their legs would allow towards their only chance for escape. The two arguing guards were long gone, having turned tail and run at Hanar’s bellow.
The screaming wail was now a roar, seeming to shake the very floor beneath their running feet. With a flood of adrenalin now pumping, all pain and weariness was forgotten as they ran towards the rapidly approaching entrance and the outside world. The sound of their rapid heartbeats pounded in their ears as they raced for their lives. The walls of the tunnel began to illuminate around them with an ominous orange glow. Yet the five didn’t dare look back, they knew what was now chasing them: hot death itself.
Svior had a crushing grip on a stumbling Nidi’s wrist, and Gimli and Ulfr were right behind followed by Hanar, chains clinking as they ran. They were within six feet of the entrance when a massive force from behind blew them right off their feet, hurling the five Dwarves those last few feet out of the tunnel and into the blinding light of the surface world. They landed hard, roughly nine feet outside the mine entrance, before tumbling down the incline leading to the road.
A jagged gray stone, that stood out of the ground of the incline like some long dead dragon’s tooth, caught the chain still connecting the four as they tumbled past. With a vicious yank on their necks it brought the four to a sudden bone-jarring stop. Hanar continued to tumble until he came to a stop at the end of the incline on the gray road.
There they all lay sprawled, smoking and still, like discarded toys. The fire seemed to scream in rage at their escape, as great dancing pillars of flames spewed from the mine entrance to lick at the sky.
(1) Iglishmek = A non-spoken Dwarven language, made up of body language and sign language.
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