Cottoncrow's Cry - Chapter 16
Gimli would never admit it to a living soul, but he was growing to dislike these caves. Unlike the caves at his home, that were strong and well formed, or Aglarond, the Rohanian Glittering caves, whose beauty was enough to amaze all that lay eyes upon them, these caves had neither the strength nor the beauty to amaze anyone.
CHAPTER 16
(Sentences in italic are indication of elven language)
Gimli would never admit it to a living soul, but he was growing to dislike these caves. Unlike the caves at his home, that were strong and well formed, or Aglarond, the Rohanian Glittering caves, whose beauty was enough to amaze all that lay eyes upon them, these caves had neither the strength nor the beauty to amaze anyone.
Their walls were weak and their lay made no sense, like a piece of parchment that someone had filled with holes. Only Gimli’ strong sense of direction and general knowledge of cave structure prevented him from becoming utterly lost, for each cave was connected with two or more others, making it almost impossible for him to search them all.
He had thought about calling out for Legolas, hoping that the elf was conscious enough of his bearings to answer him back. The feeble steadiness of the caves, however, wouldn’t allow him to do so. Too much noise inside the wrong cave and he would risk a cave in.
Outside, in the silence that had followed Thranduil and Samuel’s conversation, a scream pierced the night. Gimli could not recognize the voice behind such a sound, but the effect it had on the caves walls was immediately clear for him.
There was no particular sign or sound, but Gimli could feel it inside him as well a beat of his own heart. Years and years spent inside caves, mining them, sculpting their walls, searching their hidden treasures, had taught him well in the lure of deep places’ behaviour. These caves were mourning their own end.
Hating himself for abandoning his missing friend in such a cowardly manner, Gimli raced outside. His feet had barely cleared the entrance of the cave where he was when the whole place come tumbling down.
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The scream seemed to have a life of its own, soaping in to the very walls of the cave, a weak man’s anguish lament carved in to weak stone.
Legolas had no need to look down to know what fate had met the falling man. In all honesty, the elf could not feel pity for Samuel’s demise, even if he would’ve prefer to take him back to Cottoncrow and there see that he faced justice at the hands of those he had done wrong.
As it was, Legolas found it strange that one of his father’s guards would’ve taken such decision in to his own hands, killing the trapped man. The elf would not doubt that his father would command that, but he had not heard him speak.
Thinking of Thranduil, Legolas realized that his father was just a few paces away, after so long being apart, both of them facing their own sets of dangers. Although, by elven standards, father and son had not been apart for a very long period of time, a life time worth of events had occurred during their separation. Too many had been the occasions when the elf had thought he would never see his father again, and too many of those occasions had occur in the last few days.
There was no more room in his mind for Samuel’s actions or to worry about the mysterious character that he had accused of being his partner. The only thing Legolas could think of was to embrace Thranduil.
He was eager to share with his king all of his experiences, as well as hear from his father’s mouth all that had happened in their beloved forest.
To the weary elf it seemed only fair that he was allowed to feel his father’s arms around him once more, to lift the heaviness that had settled in his heart over the last few days. Good things supposedly happen to those you’ve earned them.
The fates, however, seemed bent on twisting the old saying.
Legolas could not believe his own senses when he felt the mountain starting to shake. He could not believe that, after all the wrong that Samuel had cause in life, his last act before dying had been to cause such a disaster.
The elf barely had time to throw himself out of the cave, before it collapsed behind him in a loud puff of dirt.
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The symphony of coughing fits was a welcome sound as any had ever been heard. Thranduil had, in the anguish moments of silence that followed the series of cave-ins, feared that he had lost all of his guards, elves that had been his personal escort for so long that they had grown close to his heart.
When the dust finally started to settle and the king was able to do a quick head count, he was reassured to find that all were up and about. Other than some minor scrapes and dirtier clothing, luck had been on their side.
It wasn’t until he looked up, that Thranduil realized just how gracious lady luck had been towards them. The face of the cliff had changed drastically, becoming unrecognisable from the mountain that had greeted them just moments before.
Gone were the numerous caves and what before had been a serious of narrow paths that run alongside the mountain side were now rock steeps and sharp angles.
The king’s heart twisted inside his chest. Unable to accept even the thought that his son now laid dead and trapped inside one of the collapse caves, Thranduil’s mind quickly grabbed on to the only idea that his heart could accept, that Samuel had lied and that Legolas had never been inside those caves.
“My king?” One of the elven guards approached him, his fair face covered in a dark grey dust that made his bright eyes stand out in the light on the moon. “What do you command?”
For a moment Thranduil was unsure of what to answer the elf. A part of him wanted to turn each of the mountain’s rocks upside down until he saw proof that his son wasn’t underneath any of them. Another part of him, the logical part, told him that would be a waste of time and that he had to focus his energy and resources first on the living and on the known facts that he had.
Ages of being in command and ruling for the best of all and not to satisfy his own interests and ages of watching his father ruling in the same manner before him, made Thranduil’s choice an easy one.
“Gather two others and return for the humans. We will need their help in searching the forest,” he finally said, a new resolve lacing his voice. “The rest of you help me search the debris. Gimli was somewhere up there searching for Legolas. I owe it to my son to make sure that the dwarf is still alive.”
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Torches were lit up to help the sharp elven eyes to search in the dark. From a bird’s point a view, it looked as if the stars had fallen from the sky and had decided to walk about the land.
None of the guards searching for the dwarf had much faith in finding the creature alive, but still they were meticulous in their quest. To know that this dwarf had the confidence and friendship of Legolas was enough for any of them to deem him worthy of their efforts.
Samuel’ stolen horse, spooked away by the roar of the collapsing rocks, had returned. The elven guards could see him, gently pocking at something in the ground by the tree line. Intrigued by the horse’s actions, one of the elves went to his side.
In the distance, the flickering flame of the torch’s light danced upon white flesh. Up closer, the guard could see that the horse was in fact licking a hand, gently nudging whom it belonged to wake up. Whoever that person was, its body was hidden by the short bushes.
“Over here!” The elf called to the others.
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Thranduil absorbed himself in the search at hand, never allowing his mind to wander to far in to its darkest paths. Search for the dwarf, search for a clue of where Samuel might’ve hidden Legolas. Do not give reason the room to plant the seed of doubt in your mind. Do not imagine your son’s lifeless eyes.
At the edge of the tree line a hooded female figure came rushing out, waving her arms around.
“Help me!” She called out to them. “Over here!”
Thranduil and the remaining guards who had stayed with him hurried to her side. On closer view, the king recognized her as the woman who had accompanied Gimli and the others.
Her face looked flushed and he could see blood on her hands.
“What ails you?” He asked, remembering to speak in the westron tongue.
“I caught her,” Alumna told them, her breath coming in sharp gasps, the rush of excitement preventing her from breathing properly. “I caught her!”
“You caught her?” Thranduil asked looking around, clueless about what the woman was talking about.
Alumna took a deep breath, realizing that her speech wasn’t making much sense.
“Kazam, the she-dwarf,” she started. “I saw her steal a crossbow from one of the guards from the village and sneak away after you left. Bomieth had warned me about her and so I decided to follow. She came straight here.”
At the mention of the crossbow Thranduil stood straighter, realizing that this woman had possibly caught Samuel’s killer.
“She was hidden behind the bushes, watching you and Samuel talk. When Samuel was grabbed from behind, she used the crossbow. I was too slow to stop her shot, but I managed to secure her before she could shoot again.”
“Take us to her,” Thranduil asked.
Amongst the long list of Samuel’s wrong deeds, Gimli had told the king that he had killed the she-dwarf’ son. Thranduil could easily understand her need for revenge. What he found curious were extents that the she-dwarf had gone to kill Samuel, knowing that he would be made to pay for his crimes either way.
The trek to where Alumna had left the unconscious she-dwarf was not a long one. Kazam had yet to awake, her small body lying sprawled on the ground near the bloody rock that the woman had used to rob her of her senses.
Alumna saw the rock too and unconsciously wiped her hands on her cloak. It was clear to the elves that such violence had not seated well with this woman’ spirit. Such simple and absent minded act was enough to strengthen their trust in her.
“Restrain the she-dwarf,” Thranduil commanded. “I wish to speak to her when she regains her senses.”
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Gimli stumbled out of the rocks where he had landed, not sure if he was alive or dead. The loud ringing in his ears was making him dizzy and the darkness of the night had left him disoriented. The few lights at a distance were his only guiding point as he made his unsteady way towards them.
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The elven guards worked hard and fast to clear the debris that covered half of the body discovered by the gentle horse. From the clothing that they could see so far, they figured it was one of the humans, a tall man by his built. What he had been doing that far from where they had left them, the elves couldn’t guess, nor could they guess if he was still lived or not.
When the rocks were cleared enough for the torch light to shine upon the face of the stranger, a surprised gasp left each elven mouth almost at the same time, turning in to a collective choir of incredibility.
All knew the king’ son very well, having lived much of their longs lives in Mirkwood. Many of them had served under Legolas’ command on more than one occasion. The dirty features uncovered by their efforts were unmistakable for all, even changed in appearance as they were.
“Fetch the king!”
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Though they had just met a few hours ago, Thranduil had no doubt that the stumbling figure that was approaching their group was the dwarf, Gimli. As he waved for his guards to go and help the struggling dwarf to walk, the king was surprised by his genuine sentiment of relief over his son’s friend.
“How fare you, master Gimli?” The king asked as soon as the dwarf was comfortably seated against a tree, drinking the water that the elves had offered him.
Gimli waited for the cold water to wash away all the dust in his mouth before trying to talk. Swallowing away the rest of his discomfort, he finally answered the king.
“I could not find him.”
Thranduil nodded, somehow knowing that the dwarf had done his best.
“We will,” he said with all the conviction that he could master. “We will.”
“Gimli?”
Upon hearing Gimli’s voice, Alumna had neared the group, wanting to make sure that her friend was truly alive. “What happened to you?”
Gimli tried in vain to dust his clothes clean as he rose to greet the woman.
“Nothing of importance,” he downplayed the events. “You left the others?”
As she was about to launch herself in the long tale that had brought her to elves, when one of the elven guards arrived, racing from the opposite direction.
“My king! My king!” He called, his breath as easy as if he had just wakened from a nap. “We found him, my lord!”
Thranduil could not believe his own ears. Dare he to give hope a chance?
“Where?”
The elf pointed from where he’d come from.
“Not far.”
Gimli and Alumna listened to words exchange between the two elves, not understanding their meaning but seeing the way the elves’ faces lit with joy. Needing no knowledge of the language of the elves, both immediately knew that only one thing could bring that sort of expression to the king’s face.
“You found him? Where is he? Is he well?” Gimli fired the questions in rapid succession, ignoring the surprised looks in the elven guards’ faces to the fact that he had understood what they were saying.
The king smiled, resting one hand over the dwarf’ shoulder.
“Are you well enough to walk?”
Gimli just snorted, as if the elf had asked the most insane question in the whole of Arda.
“I want to see you trying to stop me!” He said with a cocky smile.
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Gimli had almost forgotten how different Legolas looked. When they reached the small group gathered around the prince, Gimli saw the small falter in Thranduil’ steps when he took a look at his son.
Apart from the man’s clothing and the shorter hair, Legolas was in whole a monochromatic figure, covered in greyish dirt, worlds apart from the elf that Thranduil had last seen.
The only spots of colour in Legolas semblance were the red, from the bump on his head and the scratches on his face, and the blue from his eyes. Eyes that had already spotted his father.
“My king,” Legolas greeted him with a smile.
“Calen lin,” Thranduil replied warmly, embracing his son. “I thought I’d lost you.”
Lost in each other’s arms, the two elves savoured the moment that both had waited for so long, none wanting to be the first to break contact.
Gimli waited as long as could, but when he realized that the two elves wouldn’t be parting ways that soon, impatient as all good dwarves, he decided to settle the matters himself.
“It is good to see you again, lad!” He said, barging in and clasping Legolas’ wrist in greeting.
What for the other elves was considered offensive, Legolas welcomed, used as he was to the dwarf’s manners. To Gimli, however, it wasn’t only a matter of greeting his friend. Last he had seen him, Legolas had been unconscious, fighting the results of an arrow wound to his right side. The elf he was seeing now had nothing but a few scrapes on him, looking healthy as a newborn.
“What on Eru’s name happened to you?” He asked, knowing that only his friend could understand the full meaning of his words.
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When an elf arrived, warning Thranduil that the dwarven female had finally awaken, the king was more than reluctant to leave his son’s side.
After taking a more careful look at Legolas’ semblance, Thranduil realized that the tale told by Gimli about their troubles had been the mild version of the actual events.
The dwarf had told him that he and Legolas had been prisoners at the village, but he had left out the part about what had happened to his son’s hair, surely because the dwarf had no way of knowing the true meaning of a short mane for wood-elves. He would have to wait until he was alone with his son to question him about that.
The dwarf had told him that Legolas had been hurt even before his execution almost happen, but he had left out the seriousness of such wound. From what his son had told them, if it hadn’t been for the forest’s help, the elf would be dead by now.
The dwarf had also failed to mention the sadness in Legolas’ eyes, as well as the sorrow that the king could feel in his son’s heart. The cause of both was something that the king planned to discover soon.
“I wish to go with you,” Legolas’ voice interrupted Thranduil’s thoughts. “Samuel mentioned another, responsible as he was for all that had been happening to these people. I want to know if it is this she-dwarf.”
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Kazam looked around, not recognizing the darkness that surrounded her. In her still confused mind, sleepy eyes focused on the glowing creatures that were nearing her. The she-dwarf’s heart pumped like mad inside her chest, frightened by such ghostly, ethereal figures.
The one in front had the bearing of a king, his light hair crowned by a dark mess of leaves. Inside her mind, Kazam was back to the last place where she had see such imposing figure, in the battle of the Five Armies.
She had made a deal with the orcs, to gain some of the precious stones guarded by the dragon Smaug. Her father and older brother had left to fight in the coming battle, not knowing of her schemes.
In the end, the orcs had not respected their part of the deal, she had betrayed her people and her kin never returned home. The greedy king of Mirkwood had been the one to blame for that battle. And it was in his palace that her stones were stored.
She feebly tried to run away now from such vision, by the elf came nearer and nearer, and she could not escape his presence.
“Why did you kill Samuel?” He asked, not bothering in greeting her or introducing himself.
“Are you real?” The she-dwarf asked, her eyes crossing and her speech rolling like pebbles from her mouth.
Thranduil exchange a look with the rest of the group, wondering how sane of mind the prisoner actually was.
“I am real,” he said. “Now answer my question!”
The she-dwarf gave no outside warning, as she launched herself in rage towards the elven king. The ropes around her legs and the quick reflexes of the elven guards and Legolas didn’t allow her for much damage. She went limp in the guards’ arms, consciousness stolen away from her once more.
“I am afraid I hit her too hard,” Alumna whispered, concerned by what her actions could mean to the dwarf’s health.
“Worry naught,” Gimli assured her. “Dwarven heads are solid as stone!”
Legolas hid a soft smile before turning to his father.
“Had you met her before?” He asked, intrigued by the manner in which Kazam had reacted to the older elf.
Thranduil shook his head.
“Never before, as much as I can remember.”
“And you say she was the one who killed Samuel?” Gimli inquired.
“Aye, saw her shoot him myself,” Alumna assured him. “Think she wanted to take revenge for young Bomieth’s death?”
“It is possible,” Thranduil said. “A wounded mother’s heart can turn the mind of even the kindest of souls.”
“She was no grieving mother,” Alumna said with hard eyes. “Bomieth was not a son that she loved, or so his father told. No, if she took Samuel’s life on revenge, it was on some other matter other than Bomieth’s death.”
“I wish to believe otherwise,” Legolas said, “but if there is one time when I believe Samuel to be telling the truth, that time was when he said that another had helped him in his deeds, just before he died.”
“And you believe that person to be Kazam?” Gimli asked in suspicion, part of him falling in to the old habits of defending his people over anything else.
“Peace, friend Gimli,” Legolas pleaded, knowing the dwarf’s hot temper. “I am, of you all here, the one that knows her the least, and Samuel did not put a name to his claims, but what if that arrow was not meant for Samuel’s back?”
From the frown on Thranduil’s eyebrows, the absent minded way in which Gimli was composing his beard and the silent gasp that Alumna muffled with a hand over her mouth, it was clear to see that such thought had never entered their minds.
“It was a very difficult shot, even for the sharpest of archers,” Legolas went on. “Consider for one moment that revenge was not what she had in mind, but instead, it was her goal to help Samuel what if, in her lack of skill, she ended up killing her own partner?”
“Help him, even when he was about to tell you about her?” Gimli asked.
“She had no way of knowing, not from such distance,” Legolas dismissed the notion. The more he presented his idea, the stronger it become in his mind.
“If revenge was all that she wanted, why wait that long to shoot him? Why wait until it became clear that the powder would not explode and that Samuel had been caught?”
Even not wanting to, even Gimli was starting to see Legolas’ logic. Kazam had appear out of nowhere when they had no idea where Samuel was, having coincidentally spotted him in the forest, even when she did not know that they were searching for the man. She had led them there and she would’ve led them straight to the caves had they not encountered the elves.
The last remains of will to defend the she-dwarf left Gimli’s body and he could feel himself starting to hate her. If she had truly been aiming to shoot Legolas and had shot Samuel by mistake, she would pay dearly. No dwarf that Gimli met would disgrace in such manner dwarven kind and be left unpunished.
With their backs turned to the she-dwarf as they talked, none saw as she stirred and closed her eyes.
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The night was slowly turning in to dawn when Kazam opened her eyes again, carefully searching for the elf that she knew would be guarding her. A fire was burning at a distance from her and the she-dwarf could see a number of elves and men dancing around it.
Her guard, a green clad elf, was resting against a tree, his opened eyes looking at the sky, his posture relaxed but alert, she was sure.
If there was one thing that she remembered about the woodland elves was their kind hearts and the gentle manner in which they treated their prisoners. Sure enough, as she tested her restrains, Kazam realized that, although secure, they were loose enough for her to free herself. Free to try again.
The plan had begun to form in her head soon after Bomieth, her husband, had expelled her from Cottoncrow. In those days, rejected by her kin and kindred, revenge had been the only thing that had kept her alive in the forest.
Never for once entering her mind that her actions were justification enough for what had befell her, Kazam plotted for a way to make Bomieth suffer. They would all be made to pay for every wrong turn that her existence had taken.
When she met Samuel by chance, she saw in him the way to put her plans at work. He was greedy and unscrupulous enough to do what was needed, obedient enough to do it without rising to many questions.
She taught him much of the dwarven lure, enough to make all believe that the man had indeed spend time with the dwarves, sharing with him all that she knew up until the Battle of the Five Armies.
She taught him enough of leaves and herbs for him to pass as healer and she fed him her plan, small piece by small piece.
How to insinuate himself in to Bomieth’s house, how to gain the village trust, how to place himself in a comfortable position to take Bomieth’s power. How to gain for her all that was rightfully hers, even if she could not enter Cottoncrow to claim it.
The death of her own son had come has an unforeseen fortitude, one that she wasn’t particularly sorry about, and one that had, in the end, helped them plenty.
The same had happened with the arrival of the elf and the other dwarf. Their timing had been perfect and the fact that the people in the village weren’t used to such creatures had made things even simpler.
The fact that one of the strangers was the son of the elven-king that she had learned to hate, had only made things sweeter.
What she had not foreseen, what she could not compensate or plan around, was the chance encounter between Gimli and Alumna, or the way in which both had joined forces to frustrate her plans.
In the end, Samuel had paid the price for his own stupidity and she, foolish enough to try to help him, had become a prisoner herself.
Contorting her fingers enough to reach inside the many folds of smelly cloths, Kazam produced a hidden blade that had escaped the eyes of her captors. She made haste of cutting away the ropes that restrained her and with a quick glance to make sure that the guard was still looking away, she ran in to the forest.
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“May I join you?” Thranduil asked before taking a seat on the ground, next to his son.
Legolas, lost in his thoughts as he was, welcomed his father with a smile.
“My king is always welcome,” he said.
It had become a sort of game between father and son, to call each other anything but ‘father’ and ‘son’, for both enjoyed the looks on the others’ faces when they caught them doing so.
“Even when your thoughts occupy you in such manner that you do not join our merry making?” Thranduil asked, pointing to the fire that the elves had built and around which some were still dancing. Some of the men from Cottoncrow, having surpassed their initial distrust and shyness around the elves, had also joined them.
Gimli had watched them bemused at first, before grumbling that there was no party without ale, turning to the other side and promptly falling asleep.
“I shall celebrate when I walk beneath the tree cups of Mirkw… Eryn Lasgalen, is it now?”
Thranduil smiled, remembering the spring’s deep greens and the golden autumn tones in the woods of home.
“Yes, Lasgalen, the wood of greenleaves it is called now, free at last from the shadow. You will fall deeper in love with her now.”
Legolas closed his eyes, in his mind seeing with no difficulty all of the wonders that his father was describing. He could see the light bouncing from leaf to leaf; he could smell the scent of dew in the mourning and hear the calls from every bird that, like them, called the forest home.
“I can not return there,” Legolas said with his eyes still closed. He could not face the disappointment in his father’s eyes. “I am not the same elf that once left those woods.”
The king sighed deeply, for he had already guessed that his son was troubled. Thranduil reached out, grasping a string of the short golden hair. The long mane that had for long covered Legolas’ shoulders wasn’t enough now to cover even his pointed ears.
“What happened?”
“More has changed, other than the way others see me. The lady Galadriel was right in her warnings… I can find no rest under the trees, not like before,” he confessed.
“You know that no Lasgalen’s elf would ever think differently of you because of the way you look, Calen Lin. I understand what it may seem for those who don’t know you, who don’t know your strength of character but…”
Thranduil stopped when he saw the sadness in his son’s face and realized that it wasn’t others’ opinion of him that was bothering Legolas.
“You have heard the calling.”
“I was foolish enough to venture too close to the sea and could not resist the lull of the gulls.”
“Will you answer the call?” The king asked, afraid of what the answer might be. It had been hours since he had reunited with his son and already was he on the brim of losing him again.
“There is a wooden area outside of Gondor. Too long under the shadow of Mordor, it begins now to fade away,” Legolas said, in a way pleading for his father’s understanding. Like the forest, he too felt himself fading away.
“Aragorn and I have talked about it, and we believe that under the care of the elves, those woods might once again flourish.”
Legolas had planned to speak to his father about these matters once they arrived home. However, a part of his heart that needed the older elf’s approval could wait no longer.
“And you’re thinking of moving there?”
“It is closer to the sea.”
“It is far from Lasgalen,” Thranduil confessed. Although ages had passed since Legolas could be called elfling, in Thranduil’s eyes his son was still as small as tree sampling, running barefoot around the halls of the palace. “It is far from me.”
Legolas turned to Thranduil, embracing his father’s shoulders. He looked deeply in to the other elf’s dark blue eyes before answering.
“The west is farther away.”
The king nodded, for in the end, he knew that there was nothing he could do to change his son’s mind without causing him more pain.
“How are they named?”
There was a sense of easiness and relief in Legolas voice when he replied his father.
“Ithilien.”
“Many will want to follow you there.”
Legolas looked at the older elf, surprised by his words.
“You are very dear to all in Lasgalen. This should not surprise you,” the king told him. “In some ways, they love you more than their own king.”
Legolas was about to tell Thranduil that he was being foolish when both heard the commotion. The elf who had been guarding the she-dwarf was calling all to arms, for the prisoner was no where to be seen.
“What happens?” A still sleepy-eyed Gimli asked. “What’s with all the shouting?”
“Kazam has run away,” Legolas translated for him. “A party is being formed to chase her.”
The dwarf composed his rumpled clothes before picking up his axe.
“So, what are we waiting for?”
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The she-dwarf’s trail was easy one to follow. She was in a hurry and wasted no time in trying to conceal her passage. Her mind, still confused from the blow received, had only one coherent thought running through it. To escape, to gather her bearings, to be free to extract her revenge later.
Legolas and Gimli were joined by three other elves in their search. Gimli had to make an extra effort to keep up with the long legs of the elves, but he did not complain. In a way, it reminded him of the great chase he had taken part with Legolas and Aragorn and that thought alone was enough to warm his heart.
“There!” Legolas called out to the others.
Straight ahead, soon all others could see what Legolas’ keen eyes had spotted. The she-dwarf was nearing the ruins where all of their troubles had started. As far as Gimli, she was trying to reach the under passages that ran beneath the ruins, intended on disappearing from view. From the way the men from the village had spoken about them, it would be next to impossible to find her after that.
“We must hurry, or risk the chance of losing her!” He warned the elves, unfamiliar with those grounds.
None of the elves had taken their bows, their goal being to recapture the creature without harming her. Now, however, facing the chance of failure, they wondered if that had not been a mistake.
Legolas suddenly stopped, as if for the first time realizing where they truly were. He let the others race ahead and, instead of following, neared one of the ancient trees and rested his hand against it.
For anyone taking notice of the elf’s actions, he looked as if he was resting against the tree bark, his eyes closed and his body supported by the wood being. Nothing, however, could be farther away from the truth.
The glow started softly, a mere trick of the morning light, something that one would miss if not looking carefully. And then it grew stronger, brighter, like a burning star trapped to the ground.
The others ahead stopped too, not because they had caught the strange events happening behind them, but because of what they saw ahead.
The she-dwarf, who had almost succeeded in disappearing in the maze of under tunnels, had been lift up in the air by some unseen force. They all watched in awe as her small body floated for a second above the ground before tumbling down. She vanishing before their eyes, consumed by the roots of a giant tree.
“Did that tree just...” Gimli tried to voice what he had just seen, but found out that he couldn’t find the words to describe it.
He was relived to see that the elves looked as amazed as he was. It would worry him much if this was a common occurrence in Mirkwood. Legolas had invited him to visit his woods, and the dwarf wouldn’t dare to set foot in a place where the trees ate people.
“It did,” one of the elves remembered to answer, knowing exactly what was on the dwarf’s mind. The elf looked back, waiting for Legolas to rejoin them. “What did you tell them?” He asked in their tongue when the prince was near enough.
When they had noticed that Legolas was no longer running by their side, the elves had looked back, seeing him near the tree. It was common for all woodland elves to communicate with the trees of their home, and none could do it easier than the son of Thranduil.
In these woods, however, they could not hear the voices of the trees. That Legolas had stopped to talk with one of the ancient beings, and be successful in it, came as no surprise to any of them.
“I told them of our suspicions. They told me of what they had witness time and time again. Kazam and Samuel were responsible for more fell deeds than what we were aware of,” Legolas said, his eyes sad at the recollection of the images of pain and suffering the trees had showed him. “Long had these woods sought to be read of the evil these two brought to their lands. The trees decided that it was time for that to come to an end.”
“Of whom do you talk?” Gimli asked, looking suspiciously around him. All he could see were trees and bushes.
As they neared the place where Kazam had disappeared, Gimli understood what he had been trying to deny. They stood at the rooted base of a giant tree, it’s trunk so large that four elves and a dwarf could stand side by side in front of it and not see behind it. Alas, what they were looking for was right in front of them.
Where the roots met the trunk there was now a new mass of deep indentations on the wood. And they only knew that it was new because it bared a frightening resemblance to the she-dwarf.
Trapped by the ancient tree, Kazam had become a permanent part of the woods, forever sculpted in their roots, watching as they did the passing of time.