Post by Admin on Jan 7, 2021 19:27:03 GMT
Author: Tauriel and Anoriel
Summary: "'Something has crept, or been driven, out of dark waters under the mountains. There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world!'"
Gandalf, A Journey in the Dark, Fellowship of the Ring
-- Gandalf spake these words, but what thoughts churned in the mind of the Dunadan at that moment, hidden from view by the dark of Khazad-dûm? What did he know of the deep places, under the mountains?
A/N: Methedras is the southernmost peak of the Misty Mountains. It is also called the Last Mountain. Its slopes form the borders of both Isengard and Fangorn.
A/N 2: All thanks to the wonderful beta Ithiliel!
"'I too once passed the Dimrill Gate,' said Aragorn quietly; 'but though I also came out again, the memory is very evil. I do not wish to enter Moria a second time.'"
Aragorn, A Journey in the Dark, Fellowship of the Ring
Darkness, deep and unforgiving. Pressing in on every side. Crushing, suffocating him. The mountain was above, the black pool below. He was trapped between them, no escape. Why had he been such a fool?
High in the night sky, the stars looked down on the rocky landscape. Snow lay on the mountain peaks and reflected the silvery light back to the heavens. If any living creature had braved the deadly cliffs and clambered up upon the forbidding face they would have been dazzled in moments. But there was no one to see. No one dared to climb the heights of Methedras, the Last Mountain. However, within Methedras, the tale was not so.
A man there was. Dark, stained with much travel, no longer young by count of years, but not yet weary. He lay, suspended, deep in the caverns under the roots of the mountain, on a narrow shelf formed by the stones. How he came to be in that place is a mystery even to him, but there he hung. Below him was darkness. It stretched down, consummating in a black pool which seemed as dark and vast as the vault of the heavens. But in this blackness, there were no stars.
Aragorn, called by some Dunadan, by others Thorongil, and by select few Estel, was returning to the home of his childhood after long labours under Thengel of Rohan and Ecthelion of Gondor. For 23 long years he had served these wise rulers with all his might, furthering the cause of Free Folk against the Dark Lord. But now at last he was returning home. Imladris! The name burned in his heart.
The man traveled on foot. A fine, smoke grey stallion had been his when he left Minas Tirith, a gift from Thengel and his little son Theoden. The horse was meant for the young prince, but when Theoden discovered that his beloved Thorongil had no horse, the lad forfeited his right to the beauty and bestowed it on his newest friend. The horse had served Thorongil well. It grieved the captain to part with his faithful Saelon, but the horse was old now, and would most likely die on a long trip over the mountains. So Thorongil, just before passing over the northernmost border of Rohan had sent Saelon on his way. They had traveled Rohan much together and Thorongil had faith that his old companion could find a way to Meduseld. But Thorongil continued on.
As he crossed out of Rohan, he ceased to be Thorongil, the captain of Rohan and Gondor, the eagle of the star; instead, he was now Aragorn son of Arathorn, foster son of Elrond of Imladris, Chieftain of the Dunadain: the Rangers of the north.
Instead of continuing north, passing Fangorn forest, possibly stopping in Lothlorien to pay respects to the Lady Galadriel, and then crossing over the Redhorn Gate, and so coming to Imladris, Aragorn had chosen to cross the Misty Mountains at their southernmost point of Methedras: just north of Isengard. continuing north on the western side of the mountains. However, scarcely had he begun to climb the gentle slopes of Methedras when suddenly he fell.
Aragorn was by no means an inexperienced man in the art of mountain climbing so it was a complete shock when a chasm opened suddenly under his feet! He tried to leap away, but it was too late. Down he fell, into the gaping crevice.
The man had fallen deep into the bowls of the mountain. A long black tunnel lay behind him, a black pool below: there was nowhere to go. He lay motionless for a time, then he moved.
Aragorn groaned. He had fallen down a long tunnel, landing on this narrow ledge. He could feel the bruises beginning to form already. He stood up shakily, hoping to find a way out; as he stood up however, the ledge collapsed under his feet.
The narrow shelf crumbled from underneath the man, sending him tumbling down towards the dusky pool.
When Aragorn hit the water, he was surprised at how warm it was. He had no time to be surprised however. As soon as he slipped beneath the surface, a sinuous tentacle wrapped itself about his ankle. He fought with all his strength, but the creature dragged him down.
The man tried to escape the monster which clung to him, but he was drug deeper and deeper into the pool.
Just when Aragorn thought he would certainly die from lack of air, he was thrust into a dry, air filled cavern. He was too shocked to do anything but gulp the welcome air.
The monster threw the half dead man into an underwater cavern. The cavern however was not filled with the same tepid water as the rest of the pool, but instead was filled with fresh, life giving air. The man began to gasp and choke as he tried to expel the water from and pull air into his lungs at the same time.
When Aragorn finally raised his head to look about him, he reeled back in horror from the sight before him.
After the monster had thrown the man into the rocky cavern, it heaved itself out of the water and up beside the man. It was a terrible thing to behold. Hundreds of writhing tentacles issued out from all sides of its shining body. It had no scales, instead its skin was smooth; almost silken in texture. It was covered with iridescent slime which dripped slowly onto the cavern floor. It was terrible to look at, but in its strangeness it was beautiful. Once, in long ages past, this fell beast had been a heavenly being: one of the Maiar. But it was caught by the Deceiver. Forced to assume this deadly body and perform His terrible will, the angelic spirit was crushed: it's light broken. Now it lived in this black pool: dreaming in vain of forgotten days of glory.
Aragorn had been taught of creatures such as this, in his days of being tutored under Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel. Lord Glorfindel had battled a Balrog, another such spirit creature, been killed, and raised again by the Valar. Aragorn would now fight his own battle.
Two eyes looked down at Aragorn from it's gelatinous head. They were wide, unblinking. In his mind, Aragorn began to think of the creature as "The Watcher" because it watched him ceaselessly. This all passed through the Ranger's mind in an instant, within the next moment he felt one of the creature's many tentacles curl itself about his right ankle. Quickly he drew his sword and slashed wildly at the monster's appendage. The thing roared with rage as he sliced through it. Scrambling to his feet as best he could, Aragorn clambered slowly up onto one of the many shelves which littered the walls of the cavern, hoping to possibly be able to find a foothold which could allow him to catch the creature off guard.
His opponent lulled, and swirled the water beneath him as if it too was planning a strategy. It began to run its remaining arms up the surface of the rock wall that held its newly found prey. Doing so, the monster took hold, and lifted its great mass onto the face of the rock and began to climb upward toward said prey!
With every second that passed, the monster's giant body came closer. Aragorn knew that his opportunity to escape was swiftly shrinking.
The man and the monster slashed their way around the cavern. The monster had finally trapped the man in a corner when suddenly the man fell backwards into a hidden tunnel.
They fought for an innumerable amount of time. Minutes became hours, hours became days, and days became blurred. There was no respite for the man who fought for his life. Through the tunnel they went, never seeing the sky, only more stones and these shrouded in shadow.
At last they broke free from the black tunnel through which they had travelled. They were in a large open room of some kind. Great stone pillars stood all about, and three doorways were behind them.
Aragorn stumbled away from the monster which seemed to be happy to let him go for the moment. Leaning against a piece of stone which lay beside him, he stared at the doorways in front of him. One, he had just come out of. The center one was large and looked as if it had been heavily decorated at some time. The last was small and lay on the right hand side. The creature was turned away from Aragorn for a moment and, summoning his strength as he had done in many other battles, he plunged down the small, right hand tunnel. Behind him, the monster roared in rage and battered at the doorway he had entered. It was too small and the creature at last turned away. Aragorn could hear it slowly retreating farther and farther away. He did not think that it had reentered the tunnel it had come from, but he did not look back.
Although he chosen what appeared to be the least of the doors, the road which Aragorn found himself on was a fine one, well made and still in good repair even after many years of disuse. He followed it for many hours before he collapsed in the middle of it.
The man slept for a time, then he roused himself and continued. He wound about under the mountains, hoping against hope that somehow he would escape. The man stumbled on, passing through a larger open space with many drafts running through it, then another tunnel, then a smaller space. He stumbled over many pieces of stone and other obstacles; till he could scarcely feel his legs. He came to a long flight of stairs, then a narrow bridge. By this time, the man was so weak he could not even walk across the bridge; he fell to his knees and crawled. After the bridge, another, shorter flight of steps then, oh then! Sunlight shone down on him. After the deep impenetrable dark of the mountains, the man's eyes were dazzled.
Aragorn fell down on the grass and hid his face until he could finally look about without pain. He knew the place where he had fallen. The grassy plain in front of him was the Dimrill Dale, sacred to the Dwarves. The archway he had stumbled from was the Dimrill Gate, easternmost gate to the Dwarrowdelf: the ancient of home of the Dwarf kindreds: the Mines of Moria.
The man tried to stand and make his way towards safety, the woods of Lothlorien some miles to the East. But he was too weak. He collapsed on the soft green grass and did not move again.
Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood, should not have been traveling without an escort. Truth be told, he should not have been traveling at all. The Prince was supposed to be in Mirkwood, helping his father the King with visiting dignitaries. Unfortunately for the dignitaries however, the Prince had decided that this was a perfect time to visit Lord Elrond in Imladris in search of his dear friend Estel. The Prince's distress therefore when Estel was not in Imladris, and no one seemed to know where he was, was understandable. Legolas had not stayed long in Imladris, but instead decided to travel back home by way of Lothlorien.
The prince crossed the mountains safely and dropped down into the Dimrill Dale continuing towards Lothlorien, when suddenly something caught his eye.
A prone figure lay in the grass. It was a man and he did not appear to be moving. The Prince slipped from his horse and approached. When he neared the figure, he began to run: he had recognized the man.
When Legolas reached Aragorn's side he dropped to his knees, placing his fingers at the Ranger's neck, searching desperately for a pulse. A faint beat stirred under the Elf's slim white fingers.
The Prince whistled sharply to his horse which came and stood by them instantly. The Elf carefully lifted his friend up onto the saddleless horse and swiftly mounted behind him.
With a word, the Elven horse leapt away. They galloped across the land and swiftly neared the golden forest.
Without waitng for permission from the guards, Legolas urged his horse across Nimrodel and continued straight on towards Caras Galadhon. He rode to the center of the city and dismounted, pulling Aragorn with him. The Lady Galadriel herself descended from the ladder of a magnificent Mallorn. She did not waste time on frivolous questions but motioned the Prince to follow her to where healers had made ready.
Long hours the skilled healers laboured, but at last they were certain that Aragorn would recover.
Legolas stayed with his friend to the end, and when Aragorn was ready to return to Imladris, Legolas rode with him; just to make sure the man would have no more adventures, under the mountains.
"He did not know it, but Arwen Undomiel was there also, dwelling for a time with the kin of her mother. She was little changed, for the mortal years had passed her by; yet her face was more grave and her laughter now seldom heard. But Aragorn was grown to full stature of body and mind, and Galadriel bade him cast aside his wayworn raiment, and she clothed him in silver and white, with a cloak of Elven-grey, and a bright gem upon his brow. Then, more than any king of Men he appeared, and seemed rather an Elf-lord from the Isles of the West. And thus it was that Arwen first beheld him again after their long parting, and as he came walking towards her under the trees of Caras Galadhon, laden with flowers of gold, her choice was made and her doom appointed."
Appendix A, Annals of the Kings and Rulers, The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, Return of the King
Summary: "'Something has crept, or been driven, out of dark waters under the mountains. There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world!'"
Gandalf, A Journey in the Dark, Fellowship of the Ring
-- Gandalf spake these words, but what thoughts churned in the mind of the Dunadan at that moment, hidden from view by the dark of Khazad-dûm? What did he know of the deep places, under the mountains?
A/N: Methedras is the southernmost peak of the Misty Mountains. It is also called the Last Mountain. Its slopes form the borders of both Isengard and Fangorn.
A/N 2: All thanks to the wonderful beta Ithiliel!
"'I too once passed the Dimrill Gate,' said Aragorn quietly; 'but though I also came out again, the memory is very evil. I do not wish to enter Moria a second time.'"
Aragorn, A Journey in the Dark, Fellowship of the Ring
Darkness, deep and unforgiving. Pressing in on every side. Crushing, suffocating him. The mountain was above, the black pool below. He was trapped between them, no escape. Why had he been such a fool?
High in the night sky, the stars looked down on the rocky landscape. Snow lay on the mountain peaks and reflected the silvery light back to the heavens. If any living creature had braved the deadly cliffs and clambered up upon the forbidding face they would have been dazzled in moments. But there was no one to see. No one dared to climb the heights of Methedras, the Last Mountain. However, within Methedras, the tale was not so.
A man there was. Dark, stained with much travel, no longer young by count of years, but not yet weary. He lay, suspended, deep in the caverns under the roots of the mountain, on a narrow shelf formed by the stones. How he came to be in that place is a mystery even to him, but there he hung. Below him was darkness. It stretched down, consummating in a black pool which seemed as dark and vast as the vault of the heavens. But in this blackness, there were no stars.
Aragorn, called by some Dunadan, by others Thorongil, and by select few Estel, was returning to the home of his childhood after long labours under Thengel of Rohan and Ecthelion of Gondor. For 23 long years he had served these wise rulers with all his might, furthering the cause of Free Folk against the Dark Lord. But now at last he was returning home. Imladris! The name burned in his heart.
The man traveled on foot. A fine, smoke grey stallion had been his when he left Minas Tirith, a gift from Thengel and his little son Theoden. The horse was meant for the young prince, but when Theoden discovered that his beloved Thorongil had no horse, the lad forfeited his right to the beauty and bestowed it on his newest friend. The horse had served Thorongil well. It grieved the captain to part with his faithful Saelon, but the horse was old now, and would most likely die on a long trip over the mountains. So Thorongil, just before passing over the northernmost border of Rohan had sent Saelon on his way. They had traveled Rohan much together and Thorongil had faith that his old companion could find a way to Meduseld. But Thorongil continued on.
As he crossed out of Rohan, he ceased to be Thorongil, the captain of Rohan and Gondor, the eagle of the star; instead, he was now Aragorn son of Arathorn, foster son of Elrond of Imladris, Chieftain of the Dunadain: the Rangers of the north.
Instead of continuing north, passing Fangorn forest, possibly stopping in Lothlorien to pay respects to the Lady Galadriel, and then crossing over the Redhorn Gate, and so coming to Imladris, Aragorn had chosen to cross the Misty Mountains at their southernmost point of Methedras: just north of Isengard. continuing north on the western side of the mountains. However, scarcely had he begun to climb the gentle slopes of Methedras when suddenly he fell.
Aragorn was by no means an inexperienced man in the art of mountain climbing so it was a complete shock when a chasm opened suddenly under his feet! He tried to leap away, but it was too late. Down he fell, into the gaping crevice.
The man had fallen deep into the bowls of the mountain. A long black tunnel lay behind him, a black pool below: there was nowhere to go. He lay motionless for a time, then he moved.
Aragorn groaned. He had fallen down a long tunnel, landing on this narrow ledge. He could feel the bruises beginning to form already. He stood up shakily, hoping to find a way out; as he stood up however, the ledge collapsed under his feet.
The narrow shelf crumbled from underneath the man, sending him tumbling down towards the dusky pool.
When Aragorn hit the water, he was surprised at how warm it was. He had no time to be surprised however. As soon as he slipped beneath the surface, a sinuous tentacle wrapped itself about his ankle. He fought with all his strength, but the creature dragged him down.
The man tried to escape the monster which clung to him, but he was drug deeper and deeper into the pool.
Just when Aragorn thought he would certainly die from lack of air, he was thrust into a dry, air filled cavern. He was too shocked to do anything but gulp the welcome air.
The monster threw the half dead man into an underwater cavern. The cavern however was not filled with the same tepid water as the rest of the pool, but instead was filled with fresh, life giving air. The man began to gasp and choke as he tried to expel the water from and pull air into his lungs at the same time.
When Aragorn finally raised his head to look about him, he reeled back in horror from the sight before him.
After the monster had thrown the man into the rocky cavern, it heaved itself out of the water and up beside the man. It was a terrible thing to behold. Hundreds of writhing tentacles issued out from all sides of its shining body. It had no scales, instead its skin was smooth; almost silken in texture. It was covered with iridescent slime which dripped slowly onto the cavern floor. It was terrible to look at, but in its strangeness it was beautiful. Once, in long ages past, this fell beast had been a heavenly being: one of the Maiar. But it was caught by the Deceiver. Forced to assume this deadly body and perform His terrible will, the angelic spirit was crushed: it's light broken. Now it lived in this black pool: dreaming in vain of forgotten days of glory.
Aragorn had been taught of creatures such as this, in his days of being tutored under Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel. Lord Glorfindel had battled a Balrog, another such spirit creature, been killed, and raised again by the Valar. Aragorn would now fight his own battle.
Two eyes looked down at Aragorn from it's gelatinous head. They were wide, unblinking. In his mind, Aragorn began to think of the creature as "The Watcher" because it watched him ceaselessly. This all passed through the Ranger's mind in an instant, within the next moment he felt one of the creature's many tentacles curl itself about his right ankle. Quickly he drew his sword and slashed wildly at the monster's appendage. The thing roared with rage as he sliced through it. Scrambling to his feet as best he could, Aragorn clambered slowly up onto one of the many shelves which littered the walls of the cavern, hoping to possibly be able to find a foothold which could allow him to catch the creature off guard.
His opponent lulled, and swirled the water beneath him as if it too was planning a strategy. It began to run its remaining arms up the surface of the rock wall that held its newly found prey. Doing so, the monster took hold, and lifted its great mass onto the face of the rock and began to climb upward toward said prey!
With every second that passed, the monster's giant body came closer. Aragorn knew that his opportunity to escape was swiftly shrinking.
The man and the monster slashed their way around the cavern. The monster had finally trapped the man in a corner when suddenly the man fell backwards into a hidden tunnel.
They fought for an innumerable amount of time. Minutes became hours, hours became days, and days became blurred. There was no respite for the man who fought for his life. Through the tunnel they went, never seeing the sky, only more stones and these shrouded in shadow.
At last they broke free from the black tunnel through which they had travelled. They were in a large open room of some kind. Great stone pillars stood all about, and three doorways were behind them.
Aragorn stumbled away from the monster which seemed to be happy to let him go for the moment. Leaning against a piece of stone which lay beside him, he stared at the doorways in front of him. One, he had just come out of. The center one was large and looked as if it had been heavily decorated at some time. The last was small and lay on the right hand side. The creature was turned away from Aragorn for a moment and, summoning his strength as he had done in many other battles, he plunged down the small, right hand tunnel. Behind him, the monster roared in rage and battered at the doorway he had entered. It was too small and the creature at last turned away. Aragorn could hear it slowly retreating farther and farther away. He did not think that it had reentered the tunnel it had come from, but he did not look back.
Although he chosen what appeared to be the least of the doors, the road which Aragorn found himself on was a fine one, well made and still in good repair even after many years of disuse. He followed it for many hours before he collapsed in the middle of it.
The man slept for a time, then he roused himself and continued. He wound about under the mountains, hoping against hope that somehow he would escape. The man stumbled on, passing through a larger open space with many drafts running through it, then another tunnel, then a smaller space. He stumbled over many pieces of stone and other obstacles; till he could scarcely feel his legs. He came to a long flight of stairs, then a narrow bridge. By this time, the man was so weak he could not even walk across the bridge; he fell to his knees and crawled. After the bridge, another, shorter flight of steps then, oh then! Sunlight shone down on him. After the deep impenetrable dark of the mountains, the man's eyes were dazzled.
Aragorn fell down on the grass and hid his face until he could finally look about without pain. He knew the place where he had fallen. The grassy plain in front of him was the Dimrill Dale, sacred to the Dwarves. The archway he had stumbled from was the Dimrill Gate, easternmost gate to the Dwarrowdelf: the ancient of home of the Dwarf kindreds: the Mines of Moria.
The man tried to stand and make his way towards safety, the woods of Lothlorien some miles to the East. But he was too weak. He collapsed on the soft green grass and did not move again.
Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood, should not have been traveling without an escort. Truth be told, he should not have been traveling at all. The Prince was supposed to be in Mirkwood, helping his father the King with visiting dignitaries. Unfortunately for the dignitaries however, the Prince had decided that this was a perfect time to visit Lord Elrond in Imladris in search of his dear friend Estel. The Prince's distress therefore when Estel was not in Imladris, and no one seemed to know where he was, was understandable. Legolas had not stayed long in Imladris, but instead decided to travel back home by way of Lothlorien.
The prince crossed the mountains safely and dropped down into the Dimrill Dale continuing towards Lothlorien, when suddenly something caught his eye.
A prone figure lay in the grass. It was a man and he did not appear to be moving. The Prince slipped from his horse and approached. When he neared the figure, he began to run: he had recognized the man.
When Legolas reached Aragorn's side he dropped to his knees, placing his fingers at the Ranger's neck, searching desperately for a pulse. A faint beat stirred under the Elf's slim white fingers.
The Prince whistled sharply to his horse which came and stood by them instantly. The Elf carefully lifted his friend up onto the saddleless horse and swiftly mounted behind him.
With a word, the Elven horse leapt away. They galloped across the land and swiftly neared the golden forest.
Without waitng for permission from the guards, Legolas urged his horse across Nimrodel and continued straight on towards Caras Galadhon. He rode to the center of the city and dismounted, pulling Aragorn with him. The Lady Galadriel herself descended from the ladder of a magnificent Mallorn. She did not waste time on frivolous questions but motioned the Prince to follow her to where healers had made ready.
Long hours the skilled healers laboured, but at last they were certain that Aragorn would recover.
Legolas stayed with his friend to the end, and when Aragorn was ready to return to Imladris, Legolas rode with him; just to make sure the man would have no more adventures, under the mountains.
"He did not know it, but Arwen Undomiel was there also, dwelling for a time with the kin of her mother. She was little changed, for the mortal years had passed her by; yet her face was more grave and her laughter now seldom heard. But Aragorn was grown to full stature of body and mind, and Galadriel bade him cast aside his wayworn raiment, and she clothed him in silver and white, with a cloak of Elven-grey, and a bright gem upon his brow. Then, more than any king of Men he appeared, and seemed rather an Elf-lord from the Isles of the West. And thus it was that Arwen first beheld him again after their long parting, and as he came walking towards her under the trees of Caras Galadhon, laden with flowers of gold, her choice was made and her doom appointed."
Appendix A, Annals of the Kings and Rulers, The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, Return of the King