Cottoncrow's Cry - Chapter 15
A sort of uneasy truce had been reached between elves, humans and dwarves.
The king’s first instinct would always be one of distrust towards the dwarven kind. It wasn’t even personal; it was merely something that, by now, was part of his inner being. To struggle against it would be as difficult as preventing the sun from setting. It just was.
Chapter 15
(Sentences in italic are indication of elven language)
A sort of uneasy truce had been reached between elves, humans and dwarves.
The king’s first instinct would always be one of distrust towards the dwarven kind. It wasn’t even personal; it was merely something that, by now, was part of his inner being. To struggle against it would be as difficult as preventing the sun from setting. It just was.
However, word of this particular dwarf’s kindness and bravery, had reached him even as far as Mirkwood. And in deference to his son, the king had fought his own instincts.
Thranduil’s hand closed around the piece of parchment that he carried close to his heart, inside his tunic. Legolas had not been able to return to him immediately after the end of the war, but his words of comfort had been swift in easing his fatherly concerns.
The tales Legolas spoke of in his long letter were nothing short of extraordinaire. However, the gentle manner in which Legolas referred to his dwarven companion had left the king wandering what sort of madness had taken possession of his son’s mind.
But the further he read, the deeper grew his understanding of the friendship formed between the two warriors.
With the situation in his homeland under control, the king’s duties had submitted to the father’s longings and, unable to wait any longer for his son’s long return, Thranduil had gathered a group of warriors and had left to meet Legolas half way.
Instead of his son, the king had been faced with villainy.
The two human boys, children even by human standards, had been in search of him. They were messengers, bearing a ransom bargain from their master. Their master, of whom they would only refer as The Dwarf, claimed to be holding Legolas. He demanded a horse’s weight in gold and fine jewels, or else the king would find himself short of one son.
The mere idea had sounded ridiculous to the elf’s ears. His son was one of the best warriors that Mirkwood had ever seen and there was absolutely no chance that he would have fallen prey, to a dwarf of all beings.
The golden lock of hair that the youngsters had presented to him as proof of their words had sipped all laughing matters out of the situation.
Many were the elves that had hair of the same golden shade, but a father would recognize a part of his son anywhere. The idea that Legolas was indeed prisoner of these people began to take shape in the king’s mind and with it came the fear of losing his son and the anger that one of the dwarven people would have the audacity of playing such game.
Running thoughts of Legolas having been double crossed by his new found dwarven friend passed through the king’s mind, making his blood boil.
From the way his son had spoken about Gimli’ strength of character, Thranduil could tell that Legolas would’ve easily trust his own life in the dwarf’s stout hands. Elves, and his son in particular, were not easily fooled about another’s heart. And his son knew that that dwarf’s heart was in its right place.
The boys’ claims made little sense to the elf. It was highly unlikely that his son would be so mistaken about Gimli that that dwarf had been able to catch in such trap; it was also very unlikely that another dwarf from the lonely mountains would busy himself, in these trouble times and after so long, with acts that could only be seen as revengeful and greed. Yes, greed was not a stranger to the dwarves that Thranduil knew, but if he would admit a quality to such beings, it would be their sense of practicability.
King Thranduil quickly figured that he was being played.
Clenching his son’s lock of hair in his hand, the elf had turned his full attention to the young men who had brought it. The playfulness present in Thranduil’s eyes in the beginning of their conversation had vanished and in its place a cold, controlled fury had taken residence.
The two young boys had never witnessed such a terrifying change. The only elf that either had ever seen before had been on his knees, bound to a rock. Only then, when they found themselves surrounded by the imposing creatures, did the two boys from Cottoncrow realize that they had made a mistake. A mistake that could cost them their lives.
Before Thranduil could even open his mouth to demand the truth out of the boys, they were already confessing the felony, lips trembling in fear and pants wet in shame.
The second tale that they spit sounded so preposterous to Thranduil’s ears that it could only be the truth. The king stood, solid as a rock, listening to all that had happened to his son and his dwarven friend since their unfortunate arrival in Cottoncrow, his composed manner frightening even more the two young men.
He learned of the deceiving actions of one man, and of the consequences they had brought upon an entire village of innocent people.
He learned of his son’s actions and honoured behaviour in face of such evil man and he learned of the dwarf’s actions and cunning in both discovering the man’s plan and helping Legolas.
And he finally learned what that man had in mind when he had sent those two boys to spun lies in to his ears.
Now, alone with Gimli and away from prying ears, the king told the dwarf all that he had learned about Samuel’s plan and how they would proceed to make sure that the man was caught and made to pay for his actions.
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The water fell gently upon the broad tree leafs, making them sound like a choir of fine tuned singing voices. Deep voices entranced in a sweet melody played by the rain, one that only the elves could fully understand.
Gimli, as his human companions, was wet to the bones, feeling miserable and failing to understand why the elves looked so darn pleased with the weather.
They had been walking all afternoon with little to no rest but, unlike what had happened when he was in charge, no human dared to make a sound of protest against the elves to claim for rest.
Gimli, although he too felt the cold and tiredness of the past few days weighting him down, had to admit that this pace had brought them much closer to the mountains.
He studied the others, realizing that they looked as tired as he. However, other than him, only Alumna seemed ready to go on until she drooped to her side. Given the choice, the others would be more than happy to turn tail and go home. Gimli figured that at this point, only their fear of the imposing elves was preventing them from doing just that.
He felt a deep respect for the woman. Like the other humans, she barely knew Legolas, but unlike the others, she was truly concern for the elf. Her commitment in to helping a perfect stranger was, for Gimli, a good sign that not all was lost for the race of Men.
She was the only to whom Gimli had felt obliged to share his conversation with Thranduil, even if he had refrained from doing so. To tell her was to risk arousing the suspicions of the others, and that was something that, as he had greed with Thranduil, they could not afford to do. They needed the element of surprise on their side and, to be true, Gimli could not vow for the honour of any of the men present. He couldn’t vow even for his fellow dwarf, and that was saying a lot, for dwarves had a natural trust in each other.
Gimli had not spoken a lot with Kazam, but something in the she-dwarf made him feel uneasy. Mayhap it had been the way in which Bomieth had reacted to her, leading Gimli to think less of her, mayhap it was nothing at all, just lack on trust in her manner and pose. Whatever it was, Gimli found himself struggling hard to not flinch whenever the she-dwarf came near him.
The king, on the other hand, had surprised him.
Gimli’s only recollections of such elf were those of his father, and from Gloin’s recount, the king was nothing but a greedy monster with a mind made only for his treasures and treachery. Now, however, the elf that he was seeing was cunning and gentle, and as far as Gimli could understand, the only thing on the king’s mind was the safety of his son. And that was something that Gimli deeply respected.
From the tale Thranduil had shared with him and the portion of Samuel’s devilries that Gimli had been witness of, the two had managed to obtain a good idea about what the man’s plans were.
It was now clear to Gimli that, the moment he had shared his and Legolas’ name to Samuel, the man had known who they were. He probably had started to imagine ways of gaining profit from that knowledge that same second.
The boys that he had sent to fetch the king had left Cottoncrow two days ago, well before the deadline for Legolas’ execution. Samuel had probably planned the ransom all along, not caring if Legolas was alive or dead when the king arrived. Whatever the case turned out to be, the man thought that his precious stones were guaranteed, as a father would do anything to save his own son.
How Samuel planned to explain a dead Legolas had his father had the plan to kill Bomieth had succeed was something Gimli could not venture to guess, but he suspect that the man would have find a way to blame someone else for those actions. The village would’ve been raised to the ground when the king arrived to find his son dead, but Gimli was certain that that had never been a concern to Samuel.
The man had, after all, tried to blame all of his sins on the dwarf. Who was to tell if the same would not have been true, had everything gone according to plan?
The elf that Thranduil had sent to scout the path ahead of them returned with good news. He had found the caves, along with a single horse lazily nibbling grass by the tree line. Of Legolas and Samuel he had seen no sign.
“I will go alone from here forward,” Thranduil announced.
“And I will go with you,” Gimli added, without bothering to look at the king. His axe was held tight on his hands, blade ready to taste Samuels’ neck.
“Samuel’s message was very clear on this matter. He must see me arriving alone,” the king elaborated, much to his subordinate confusion. King Thranduil never explained his reasons to any other, much less a dwarf.
“He won’t be seeing me, do not worry,” Gimli said, a look of defiance entering his eyes.
“I will not entrust my son’s safety in the hands of a dwarf that I barely know!” Thranduil’s voice thundered across the trees.
Gimli’s eyes were mere slits from which a look of deep anger escaped.
“Listen to me, you...”
The Gimli’s angry retort was cut short by Kazam, who placed herself in front of her fellow dwarf.
“Take sense in what you’re about to say and remind yourself that the elf is surrounded by his guards,” she said, her eyes burrowing in his face, asking him to calm himself. “Let the elves deal with Samuel.”
Gimli’s anger did not ebb away, but he did pause to gather his thoughts.
“Those are caves you’re heading in to,” he reminded the king. “I’m a dwarf, I can help you.”
“I too know a thing or two about caves myself, worry not,” the elf informed him. “And you, from what I have heard, have already done enough,” Thranduil said, not hiding his displeasure about Gimli’s involvement in his son’s troubles.
A myriad of emotions crossed Gimli’s face. Surprise, bafflement, anger, rage, sadness. In the end, the dwarf settled for defeat, as he turned his back on the king and left.
Thranduil dismissed his departure and the presence of the remaining humans and called one of the guards, Anuidas, to give his final orders. The two elves talked quietly, far enough that not even the strong ears of the other elves or the she-dwarf could hear their words.
The men that had come from Cottoncrow were vaguely aware of the dwarf and the king’s fight, or of what was being discussed by the whispering elves.
They had taken their chance to rest when all had stopped at the base of the mountain and, faced with the prospect of going against Samuel, to who most still attributed unholy powers that they could not comprehend, none could bring himself to disagree with the king’s intents of going alone.
The two women were much more interested in the events unfolding in the cleary. Alumna and Kazam silently watched, each for very different reasons, carefully analysing the parts that each of the others were about to play.
And then the conversations were over. As if hearing a hidden sign that had escaped the mouths of the trees, the elves parted ways. Thranduil took the path that would lead him to Samuel’s arranged meeting place and Anuidas, along with the remaining elves took the opposite, soon disappearing from sight. A sharp command of ‘remain here’ was thrown back at the humans before the last of the elves disappeared, giving no room to argument.
Alumna’s eyes had searched Gimli’s before he left, unsure of which path should she chose. She had considered following him, for she knew that the dwarf would not so easily abandoned his friend and would surely try to help Legolas on his own. However, when the dwarf’s brown orbs captured hers for that one brief second, the message could’ve filled pages upon pages of words.
There was a plan, and for what ever reason that she could not guess, he had not told her what that plan might be or what chances he believed it had of succeeding. What she knew was that, if they were to succeed, she would have to remain there, be alert and be ready to help them when the right time came.
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The sun had yet to set, but the shadow of the looming mountains had already covered the forest in the dark colours of the night. These shadows, for once, were welcome ones, for they were helpful for their plans.
When Thranduil arrived at the bottom of the indicated cave, Samuel was already there, waiting for him.
“I see no treasure, elf-king,” the man stated, reassured that the elf had followed his instructions and arrived alone. The absence of his future fortune was the only thing leaving him uneasy.
“And I do not see my son,” the king answered back, his tone casual and controlled.
Samuel smiled knowingly. Somewhere in the trees behind the king, the rest of the elves that Thranduil had brought with him were surely hidden away from view, awaiting only one signal from their king to attack. But the king would not give such signal before he was sure that his son was safe. Samuel was counting on that to assure that his plan would work and that he would be left alive to savour it.
“You have only yourself to blame for that,” he finally replied, pointing up.
Thranduil looked up, searching the dark grey rock for a sign of Legolas. Up above, many heads above the place where Samuel stood, he saw a faint waving of fabric and light hair, tightly roped to the rocks. His heart skipped a beat, remembering the dreadful tales of Maedhros, hanging from a cliff by his right wrist, trapped by Morgoth.
“Does he live?” Thranduil forced himself to speak past the lump in his throat.
“He lives,” Samuel simply said. “My stones?”
“My guards will bring them to you as soon as you return my son to me,” the king replied. In truth, he had brought no stones, precious or otherwise, but the vile man needed not know that.
“That was not what was arranged, elf-king. Tell your elves to bring the stones and I shall release your son,” Samuel demanded. “Fail to do so and you will not enjoy the consequences.”
Thranduil’s ears were paying attention to what the man said, while his eyes covertly searched the surrounding area. The dwarf’s performance had been flawless, managing to convince even the king of the sincerity of his anger. Thranduil, however, knew better.
Deciding that they would not know in whom to trust, the elf and the dwarf had thought better to keep hidden Gimli’s part in their plan, forging a discussion that would leave no doubts about the dwarf’s reasons to disappear.
Now, in cover of the dark, the dwarf was almost impossible to spot as he quietly made his way to the high place where Legolas seemed to be trapped.
It fell on Thranduil to keep the vile man occupied in the mean time.
“They will bring them, but I can assure you that if my son was harmed in any form, you will not live long enough to enjoy them!”
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Gimli was sweaty and cold, a combination that was paramount amongst his least favourites. He looked down, measuring up the distance that separated him from the ground and cursed. Dwarves were not made to fly or chance their lives so high above. Only extremely extreme matters would ever force a dwarf to go against those beliefs.
So, the brave dwarf pushed his body higher and higher, until he reached the small, rocky alcove where his friend lay trapped. All of his thoughts of fatigue were quickly pushed aside as he neared the elf only to find, instead of Legolas, an old scarecrow.
A straw-built body had been bundled together and dressed with Legolas’ cloak. A rope held together the locks of blond hair to the head of the scarecrow, hair cut from Legolas that was long enough to dance in the night’s wind, creating a good enough illusion that it was indeed the elf.
“Son of an orc!”
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On pretext that it was the arranged signal for his guards to bring the treasure, Thranduil had whistled a long musical note, letting the wind carry it towards the forest. And then he and Samuel had settled for the wait. One waiting for the precious stones that would never arrive. The other to have his son back and give his guards the real signal, the one that would unleash their anger upon Samuel.
Once again Thranduil’s eyes escaped to gaze upon the imprisoned figure high above. Apart from the erratic movement imposed by the strong wind, he had not seen his son move. His heart felt heavy with worry.
And rage.
His son, the brave and astute Legolas, who’s adventures and deeds in the Quest of the Ring would be sung for many generations, had allowed his life to be left hanging in balance by the villainy of one man.
The thought had barely registered in his mind when Thranduil saw his worst fear become reality. The figure upon which his eyes had been resting came suddenly crashing down, bumping time and time again on the harsh rock side, like a rag doll. The king’s breath caught in his chest and his heart stopped, afraid that on the next beat his son would be dead.
When it finally hit the ground, it took the elf a moment to realize that it had made no sound, like it was made of rags.
Daring his eyes to focus on the figure that had fell, Thranduil found himself looking not at his son’s crushed body, but at a sorts of scarecrow, fashioned in a way that would make it similar to Legolas.
A crude scarecrow figure wrapped in a grey cloak with several locks of blonde hair strapped to its head. Nothing more.
Looking up, Thranduil caught a quick glimpse of Gimli, already making his way down to look for the real Legolas in the other caves.
Proven as it was Samuel’s deceive, Thranduil cast his angry eyes on the man in question, demanding answers.
Samuel too was beside himself with anger, not knowing how the scarecrow could’ve fallen on its own. Either he had been betrayed, or the king had been distracting him while his guards searched the caves for the elf. Either way, his game had been found.
“There are no stones, are there?” Samuel asked the king, ignoring the fire burning in the elf’s eyes.
Any man with a measure of common sense would’ve chosen that moment to escape. Samuel, however, seemed to lack that sense.
“There is a room filled to the top with precious stones, the finest that you could ever imagine,” Thranduil said quietly, raising his hand to signal his guards, “but none of them will ever be yours, for you will be dead.”
Silently, the elven guards that Samuel knew to be hidden somewhere in the trees became visible to him. As well as the arrows poised on their bows, aimed at him.
“So it is true then,” Samuel started to talk, apparently unfazed by his imminent death. “You do love your stones more than your own flesh and blood.”
The calm manner in which the man said those words send a chill up Thranduil’s spine. Samuel sounded like someone who had expected these actions, someone who had prepared for them.
The king’s eyes once again travelled up and down the rock side, searching for a sign that Gimli had found his son. The dwarf, however, was no where to be seen.
“It is too bad that I can not become rich over this matter, but even still,” Samuel kept talking while he grabbed a string from the ground, “I will enjoy the look on your face when you realize the graveness of your mistake.”
Thranduil could not believe his eyes when he saw the man lit the string, a small dot of fire, travelling alongside the rock wall, like a fuse. Understanding of Samuel’s words’ true meaning stroke the king like lightning, but by then it was already too late to take action.
Samuel was about to blast the caves and the only elf that could possible hit the fast moving fuse, was still trapped inside the mountain.
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Gimli could hear his own heart, beating wildly inside his ears. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that tired, but he couldn’t bring himself to slow down.
The sight of that would-be-Legolas doll, hanging in the cliff, had robbed years out of his life, so intense had been his fright. Without thinking much about it, the dwarf had pushed the scarecrow down, knowing that Thranduil would catch the scare of his immortal life, but would probably thank him later.
Gimli quickly made his way out of the cave. These caves were the most unstable place that he had ever set foot in and the thought of his friend still trapped somewhere in them, tormented by sickness, was one that pushed the dwarf to move even faster. He had to find Legolas soon and put an end to this long and painful matter.
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The sound of his father’s voice had come as a surprise to Legolas. Of all the people he would expect to find in this place, at these times, Thranduil was amongst the last.
His presence, however, answered his previous question about whom was Samuel waiting for and why his presence there was so important. He was planning to use him against his father. His life for his father’s treasure.
Since their arrival at the caves, Samuel had been busy laying his trap. Legolas had silently watched, waiting for the right moment. Now, as he listened to the man talking to his father outside, Legolas acted.
Rolling the stone that he had previously seen Samuel dislodge from the wall, Legolas found himself looking in to another dark cave. As he waited for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, the elf was surprised to find it filled with explosives.
How Samuel had managed to find them, and in such large quantities, Legolas couldn’t tell. But from their proportions and from what he knew about those caves, he was sure that if lit, those charges would have no difficulty in bringing half of the mountain down.
With one ear tracking his father’s conversation outside, Legolas searched the ground of the cave. He knew that somewhere in there would be a piece of string that Samuel needed to ignite the powder from a distance. If he could find it and disconnect it from its destination, the explosion would never happen.
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Despite the elven arrows best efforts, the last of the string disappeared inside one of the caves bellow Samuel.
The silence that followed was eerie. All cringed, expecting the harsh sound of the blast to explode in to their ears. But the sound did not come and after a while it became clear that it wouldn’t be arriving.
Samuel’s face turned so white that he seemed to be made of milk. The explosives were supposed to have worked. The orc he had tricked in to selling them had assured him that the mysterious black powder would work. The vile beast had explained to Samuel how to make the fuse and where to connect it. He had tested it before, just to be sure. It had functioned perfectly.
Samuel was certain that he had made no mistake. He had seen the fuse disappear in the cave where he’d left them. They would’ve exploded when the fire reached them. They should’ve exploded.
Sweating in the cold night, the man tasted fear for the first time. He no longer had the upper hand and his partner, his hidden card, was no where to be seen. Samuel cursed the woman and her treacherous mind.
The imminent threat of explosion had distracted the hands of the elven guards until then, but Samuel knew it was now only a matter of seconds before the arrow that would kill him finally flew away. He flinched in anticipation for the pain.
In his despair the only thought that entered Samuel’s mind was to escape. He quickly turned around, intended on losing himself in the maze of small caves, disappearing in such way that even the elven couldn’t find him. His face raced straight in to Legolas’ closed hand.
For a moment, Samuel saw a bright light. Then came the delayed pain, caused by the impact of the elf’s fist against his nose, with such force that his brain rattled.
When he recovered his senses, the man could fell Legolas’ hand around his neck, lifting him from the ground.
“There comes a time when all must pay their dues,” Legolas’ ominous voice, even though he seemed to be almost whispering the words, filled the entire cave, reaching Samuel’s ears from every possible angle. “Your time is now.”
The man saw the cave walls moving around him, but he was not sure if that was because the elf was dragging him nearer to the cave’s entrance, or because his eyes were playing tricks on him. When he felt the wind’s breeze on his back, Samuel whimpered, sure that the elf was about to throw him to his death.
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Down bellow Thranduil watched carefully, not understanding the whimpers that could be heard from above, until he realized that someone had grabbed the vile man by his neck with such vengeance that his feet stood clear off the ground and that Samuel was in fact begging for his life.
From his stand, it was impossible for the elf to see who it was, but he imagined that Gimli, with his small stature, couldn’t be the one responsible for such deed.
As if to strengthen his belief, Thranduil spotted the dwarf, making his way down, still searching the remaining caves, oblivious to all that was happening bellow.
The wind carried the frightened man’s words to those who watched from the ground. Unconnected sentences, broken by his own sobs and the twirl of the wind.
The stream of words was suddenly interrupted and, before any could understand what had happened, the man fell, bumping against the mountain side like the scarecrow had done before.
In the flashing moments between realizing that there would be no stopping to his fall and hitting the ground, a high pitched scream left Samuel’s mouth, a sound so tormented and disturbing that it resembled the call of a Nazgul beast.
And then there was the resounding crack of broken bones as Samuel’s body hit the base of the mountain and in the cold silence that followed there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the man was dead.
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Legolas had long realized that Samuel was a coward. The extent of his lack of spine was now crystal clear to the elf, as the man pleaded without room to take a breath, for the elf to spare his life.
The elven warrior lifted the man by his neck without effort, dragging him to the edge of the cave. The drop would surely kill the man, and Legolas could see in Samuel’s eyes that he too had already realized that.
The sum of all the foul deeds committed by this man was more than enough reason for Legolas to end his life. And yet, the elf hesitated.
“It was not my idea, I assure you,” the man talked without pausing for breath. “She was the one who thought it all up... she is the one who deserves to be punished!”
Legolas was about to ask Samuel of whom he was talking about when he felt the man jerk from his grasp, in pain. Looking down, for a fleeting moment he saw the end of the arrow that had pierced the man’s chest, before losing his grip all together and watch Samuel scream and tumble for his death.
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“Who fired?” Thranduil demanded of his guards when, approaching Samuel’s body, he saw the arrow in the man’s bloody backside. “I had not yet order to fire!”
The elven guards surrounded their king and the dead body, looking as angry as their lord.
“None of us took that shot, my lord,” one of the guards said, grasping the end of the deadly bolt. “Look... it isn’t one of our arrows. It is a crossbow arrow.”
The king looked more carefully to the piece of wood and arrived to the same conclusion as his guard. Anger had clouded his eyes, for the difference between the two kinds of arrows was plain to see.
The elven king hung his head in defeat. With Samuel’s demise, Thranduil had been robbed of both Legolas’ location and revenge.
He looked up, trying to judge the amount of caves in those mountains and guessing in which his son could be, assuming that Samuel had been true to his word and Legolas was there at all.
The dwarf had told him about the condition in which he had last seen Legolas, wounded and without senses, and the king feared that the longer he took to find the younger elf, the less were his chances of finding him alive.
Gimli was no where to be seen and neither was the mysterious person who had overpowered Samuel in his last moments. As to who ever had ended the vile man’s life, Thranduil was sure that he was, by now, long gone. His priority was his son.
“Scatter yourselves through these caves,” the king commanded his guards. “Legolas is bound to be in one of them. Gimli, the dwarf, is also there searching for him. Help him.”
A fleeting moment of confusion crossed the elven guards’ features, for most of them believed the dwarf to be far away by then, but none question their king. It didn’t take long for their astute minds to realize that the entire argument between the king and the dwarf had been a ruse; one that they hope had bared its fruits.
However, before any of the guards could have time to begin their search, a low rumble, like a distant thunder, begun to sound.
The deaf noise, slow and gentle at first, started to grow in level and magnitude, until all realized that it wasn’t thunder at all, but the mountain itself.
Like a giant disturbed from its sleep, the mountain had awoken and sounded angry at those who had interrupted its rest, bound on taking revenge.
The first falling rocks seemed innocent enough, leading to believe that the giant’s anger wouldn’t do much damage. Until the mountain showed its true colours and a sound, louder than any explosion could’ve sounded, filled the entire valley.
The ground shook and all that surrounded that side of the mountain was covered in such cloud of dust that all believed that they had met their end.