#racesofringsofpowerweek2023

“Princess!” The foreman, a wizened, black-bearded dwarf, bowed to Disa as he gave his report. “The rock is thin, as we thought. One more push and we should be able to break through.”

“Good!” Disa nodded. “And the beings on the other side?”

The foreman shook his head. “We haven’t heard anything since we started digging, Princess. They definitely know we’re here and are probably hiding from the noise. Or they set up a perimeter if they’re… intelligent.”

“Right. Only one way to find out, I suppose. Finish off the tunnel,” Disa commanded. The foreman bowed and relayed the order to his workers and Disa tried not to let her apprehension show. There could be anything on the other side! Orcs or goblins would have been her first assumption if it weren’t for the singing.

Reports of angelic singing had been coming in from miners for weeks. As harmonious as it was, however, it was distinctively not elvish. It could not be described as particularly dwarvish either. Perhaps some wandering group of Men had become lost in a cave?

With a mighty swing of a hammer, the last of the barrier crumbled and, just as suddenly, a spear came hurtling through the opening. It missed the dwarf who had opened the tunnel, but only just. 

“Stay back!” a woman’s voice called through the tunnel. “Identify yourselves or we shall kill you all! We have many warriors here.”

Sindarin! That language was not widely spoken amongst Men as far as Disa knew. She was glad Durin had taught her to speak it. “We mean you and your people no harm,” she replied. “I only wish to know who you are and to speak with you.”

The dwarves listened with bated breath as the woman thought about her answer. They heard murmuring and shuffling from the other side of the tunnel until, at last, she called back to them. “You may come through. Just know that I will not hesitate to kill you should you attack.”

“I would expect nothing less from a leader,” Disa answered.

Disa went through the tunnel first, closely followed by her two guards. The cavern was wide and high, with a surprisingly level floor. It was filled with people, bioluminescent fungi, and faintly glowing sheep.

In between Disa and the cavern stood a semicircle of warriors, tall and strong, but with pointed ears. At first, she believed them to be elves, but then she noted the bend of their ears. A trait she had only seen in one other person before. 

Idly, she wondered if these were Elrond’s kin. They certainly did not dress like him with their simple woolen trousers, tunics, and dresses. Several of them also wore fur cloaks and wraps. And their weapons were nothing like those of Lindon. They carried longbows instead of elvish shortbows, and spears instead of swords.

A woman towards the center of the semicircle stepped forward. “I am Daniel, chief of chiefs.” She certainly looked the part with her greying mane of fiery hair and the broadest shoulders Disa had ever seen on a female of any species.

“What is your business here? We are not trespassing.” Disa resisted the urge to narrow her eyes at Daniel’s defensive tone.

“I am Princess Disa of Khazad-Dûm. We recently annexed this portion of the mountain, although I cannot fault you for not knowing that. It was not widely spread news.” Daniel’s gaze hardened, as if she were preparing for a fight and Disa was quick to smooth the situation.

“Do not fear, Chief. The king will not oust your people in the middle of winter. In fact, I am certain he would be amicable to discussing a long-term arrangement. May I ask how you found this place?” Disa was hesitant to ask the question, but more background information was needed if they were to have any hope of forming a long-term alliance with these people.

Daniel eyed her for a long moment. “There is an opening in the mountains to the west. One clan found it several centuries ago during a particularly cold winter. I made an arrangement to pay tribute to the goblins whose land this was and our clans have gathered in this cavern network every winter since.”

Goblins had not been seen in that part of the mountain range for decades and Disa had a feeling that Daniel was more than aware of that. “You only use this cavern during the winter?”

Daniel nodded. “Yes. We are nomads, but the winters are cold and we do not like to stay among elves or men.”

Disa wondered why that was. She had thought that peredhil were more open minded than people of “purer” ancestry. But perhaps Elrond was just odd in that way. Or perhaps he had no relation to these people at all.

“I see. Well, I’m certain something can be arranged for you and your people, Chief Daniel.” 

Kelepe squinted towards the horizon. He saw the vast, roiling, grey mass of hills they had still to cross. He saw the glint of stars in little rivers and lakes. To the south ran Rathlóriel and to the north, the hills marched ever on, seemingly endless.

The horizon did seem a little lighter. Some of the stars that were usually in the sky at that time were gone, but perhaps they had just lost track of time.

“Perhaps it is the Sea,” Kelepe murmured. “I thought that it was far south and west of here, but I have never crossed the mountains before.”

Arondir’s face brightened some. “That would make sense. All of the stars reflected in so much water would certainly lighten the sky!” He shot off again down the hillside, cheerful as a thrush. 

Kelepe’s fears were not entirely relieved however. He locked eyes with his wife, Ūbathō and knew that she shared the same worries. Both of them remembered when the Enemy lived nearby and his monsters terrorized the people of Cuivienen and, later, Eriador. The temperature, the ground, the sky; nothing had been safe.

Their little twelve-elf caravan continued on for a few minutes, but in that time, the world grew noticeably lighter. The ground changed from near-black to a misty grey and the stars winked out one by one. “Arondir!” he called. “Find us a hiding place. Quickly!”

Not three minutes later, they were all bundled within a cave, Kelepe and his father, Ndangwetha, guarding the west entrance. They watched in silent terror as the horizon turned blazing orange. It was as if the whole world was ablaze, and yet, there was no smoke.

“Perhaps it is a fire-demon,” Kelepe breathed.

“Maybe,” Ndangwetha whispered back. “Although I have never seen fire without shadow. It is certainly no balrog.”

The cave fell silent once again. They huddled in the shadows as the mysterious light pushed its long fingers in through the opening. The sky outside, now entirely starless, turned a color that none of them had ever seen before, even by the light of a fire. As terrifying as it was, Kelepe could not help but wonder at its beauty.

At last, the light withdrew from the cave. The shadows lengthened until, finally, the world was again enveloped in darkness. Kelepe was the first to venture out of their hiding place and, when he was not immediately snatched away by a fire-demon, the others followed him.

“Ada, look! The stars have returned!” Arondir pointed to the sky, crowing joyously.

Sure enough, the tapestries of Elbareth glittered above them once again and Kelepe breathed a sigh of relief. The danger was passed. It was time to go on.

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“The sun rose in the east after that, of course. We thought the fire-demon had come back to finish us off so we found another cave and waited. My grandfather did not let us leave for a week!”

Theo was near tears from laughter. Arondir steadied him as he stumbled on the road. “You were afraid of the sun!?”

“We had never seen it before,” Arondir said defensively. “Your people awoke with the sun and have never known a time without it. Of course it would seem ridiculous to you!”

Theo’s laughter calmed and he wiped his eyes. “I suppose it makes sense, but still.”

Valandil and Ontamo straightened and saluted instantly, startled. “Sailmaster!” they chorused.

The sail master did not look particularly impressed, but neither did he correct them. “I have an additional task for the both of you tonight.” Valandil held his breath and he could sense Ontamo doing the same beside him. Additional tasks were usually assigned as discipline, but occasionally, the sail master would give out extra responsibilities as opportunities to prove oneself.

“Your friend, Cadet Isildur, I want you to watch him tonight.”

Valandil and Ontamo shared a glance. “Watch him, Sailmaster?” Valandil asked.

“Yes.” The sail master towered over them and they tried not to be intimidated. “I fear he will do something particularly foolish tonight. Prevent him.”

“Yes sir!” That was… a fair request, Valandil thought. As talented a sailor as Isildur was, he was not known for his common sense. The west side of Númenor was sparsely populated, rural at best. Who knew what sort of trouble would await the man who acted first and thought later?

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“Isildur…” Isildur shook his head in a vain attempt to rid himself of the voice. She was always louder the further west he went. Luckily, his regiment had no women, so all he had to do was ignore any female voices and pretend he wasn’t going mad. Or that the ghosts weren’t driving him mad.

“Isildur.” She plagued him all throughout evening drills, Her voice rang through his ears as he laid out his bedroll. No matter how hard he tried to block Her out, Her voice was there, beckoning.

“Isildur!” Isildur tossed and turned late into the night, oblivious to his friends’ worried glances. He couldn’t possibly sleep with someone shouting in his ear, but he could hardly tell someone about Her without his madness becoming known. He just had to wait until they sailed back east. He had to leave before…

“ISILDUR!” Her voice rang from the mountains like a fallen temple bell and Isildur could take it no longer. Like a man possessed, he leapt from his bedroll and took off towards the mountains, quick as an arrow from a longbow.

Valandil, who had been resting nearby, followed hot on his heels, pausing only to kick Ontamo to wakefulness. He didn’t even stop to salute the sail master as he tore past, just called over his shoulder, “I’m in pursuit!”

Isildur dashed up the slope and crashed through the underbrush, heedless of the scratches he was surely collecting. Up and up and up they climbed, Valandil always just a few steps behind his friend.

Just as Valandil thought his legs would give out from under him, they reached a clearing on top of one of the smaller hills and Isildur skidded to a stop. “Isildur?” Valandil tried. “Isildur, we need to get back to camp.”

Isildur didn’t respond. Instead, he entered the clearing as if in a trance and walked towards the shrine in its center. The shrine was clearly ancient; a cracked, moss-grown pillar with a statue of a woman on top. It was surrounded by deep blue, faintly glowing flowers.

“Isildur, this place is creepy. We are going. Come on.” Valandil made to grab him by the wrist, meaning to drag him back to camp, but was crashed into from behind by Ontamo. They fell to the ground in a heap and, before Valandil could stop him, Isildur reached out and took the statue-woman by the hand.

The very air seemed to freeze in its place. All of the night animals ceased their noise. All save the nightingales. Dozens of the birds gathered and began to swarm the clearing, screaming, clicking, and warbling.

Valandil recovered first, rushing into the swarm with Ontamo close behind. The birds repelled them at first, pecking their faces and clawing their hair, but they dispersed soon enough. There, at the center, Isildur lay crumpled at the foot of the statue, unharmed save for the blood streaming from his nose.

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Isildur woke to a pounding headache the next morning back on the ship. Her warning still rang through his mind. “It is too late to turn back. They are going to destroy your people and you with them if you do not go soon. Flee to Middle Earth, you and all those who are still Faithful. Go!”

He pondered on Her warning. Its meaning was obvious: the Faithful needed to flee before it was too late. The rest was not so clear. Who were “they”? Why had She chosen to warn him of all people?

He sat up in his hammock and immediately regretted it as his head started spinning. “Good morning, Singollo,” came Valandil’s tired voice from the hammock next to his.

“What’s the time?” Isildur grunted, ignoring the jab.

“I do not know, nor do I particularly care. The sailmaster sent me down here to rest since I didn’t get much sleep last night. Too busy chasing you through the jungle.” He slung his arm over his face dramatically. “He wants to speak to you, by the way. About what happened last night.”

“About what happened la- oh no…” The details were fuzzy in Isildur’s mind, save Her warning, but he did remember leaving the camp without the leave of the sail master. He flipped out of his hammock, landing semi-gracefully on the floor. “I don’t care what kind of flowers they use in my funeral, just make sure they are blue?”

Valandil huffed a laugh, ignoring Isildur’s struggle to get his boots on. As he dashed out of the room, he paused in the doorway. “I really am sorry about last night. I do not know what came over me, but I am sorry for leading you on a wild goose chase.”

“It is not the end of the world,” Valandil sighed. “Although I may use it as an anecdote in your eulogy if you do not hurry up and get to the Sailmaster. He will have your head if you are late on top of everything else.”

Isildur’s eyes widened comically and he all but ran from the room.

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Isildur knocked on the door of the captain’s quarters, willing his hands not to shake. He entered as soon as he was bid and stood at attention. “Sailmaster, I am deeply sorry for what happened last night. I do not know what came ov-”

“Peace, cadet,” the sail master interrupted him. “You are not in any trouble. Temporary madness is not an uncommon reaction to the West for the descendants of Elros.”

Isildur blinked. “It is not?”

The sail master shook his head. “No, although I admit yours was a stronger reaction than I’ve seen. The entire point of this exercise is to identify cadets such as yourself. Studying family trees is not always useful, as some of the Tar-Minyatur’s line are entirely unaffected and there have been many affected cadets who were not… related to him on paper, if you take my meaning.”

Isildur nodded. “I understand, Sailmaster. But, what is to be done about…this?”

“The solution is simple. You will only ever be deployed on the east side of the island, never the west. Now go,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Back to your post, cadet. You have slept long enough.”