The Unread Visions of a Higher Dream II: The Light Under the Mountain by Prackspoor  

---

V.1

In which Celebrimbor descends into the abyss for a second time.

---

V.

 

“You don't have to do this,” Fundin said quietly.

Celebrimbor stopped rummaging through his pack for a moment. “But I do, and you know that,” he said softly.

Fundin looked at him. It was a strange way of looking, though – ever since Celebrimbor had left the forges, he had noticed that the Dwarves were eyeing him like a creature that had sprouted a second head. He was sure that it had to do with the ring, but Celebrimbor fervently hoped that the Khazad didn't all take him for a madman as well.

Celebrimbor sighed. “I made a promise, or as good as one. I said that I would try to save anyone who might have survived down in Habbad-Dûm, and I meant it. I don't intend to back out now, simply because …” Celebrimbor looked over his shoulder, down the endless black elevator shaft. “Simply because discussing the details of the plan made me realize that this won't be as simple as rappelling down and picking up survivors at every corner,” he finished.

Truth be told, he had never thought that rescuing the Dwarves would be easy. But while the king, the nobles, and the surviving miners had hashed out the minutiae of the undertaking, Celebrimbor had been forced to admit that indeed he might not have thought his plan through well enough. After listening to them talk about risks and feasibility it dawned on him that he had disregarded some very blatant and obvious problems that came with his plan.

Like the disabled elevators, for one. Immediately after the survivors had come up from the deep, wounded and terrified and burnt, the elevator cages had been lifted out from the shaft, the steel cable pulled up, and two heavy mithril-steel plates had been placed over the shafts to prevent the Balrog from climbing up and into the city. Only now had the plates been removed and a few Dwarven workers were hooking the elevators back onto the steel cable by which they could descend on the winch.

And even if the descent itself hadn't been a problem, Celebrimbor would certainly have lost his way down there, as a patient miner explained to him. Celebrimbor had initially been hell-bent on not enlisting the help of others during his venture. However, after the miners had told him of the expansive maze of tunnels down there and reminded him of the iron safety doors that had slammed shut after the Balrog had attacked – well, at this point Celebrimbor had to admit that he would have been lost going down into the abyss alone. Maybe he could have gotten a hold of a map for Habbad-Dûm by himself, but even then he would have been left stranded as soon as he encountered the first of the shut doors that served to lock down the mining sector into which the Balrog had emerged. Not to mention that he wouldn't be able to rescue more than one dwarf, unless by some miracle all survivors were able to walk by themselves.

Thus it had been decided that a group of highly capable Dwarves would accompany Celebrimbor on his mission. The miners would be able to gauge the security of the tunnels and avoid collapses, while the engineers knew how to disable the complex mechanism of the closed security doors – if the tunnels still were intact enough to allow the reopening of the doors. If they found any survivors, they had strong Dwarves who could support or carry them, recruited from the guards of various houses. They could rescue the survivors and make it out alive to tell the tale…

If the Balrog wasn't still alive, that was. And if it didn't find them first.

After a thorough reconsideration, Celebrimbor had to admit that the plan contained an awful lot of ifs.

Judging by his expression, Fundin was thinking much the same. The dwarf sighed. “But the ring does work?” he asked at last.

Celebrimbor looked at the thin band of gold on his right hand, the shards of two diamonds glinting up at him in the faint light. If he just focused on it, he could feel the bond stretching from the ring right into Fundin's chest like an arc of light leaping from the ring to the dwarf: the Bond of Aulë, so strong and radiant that it had to be nearly visible on a physical plane. Together with the bonds of the other dwarves, the cavern was practically blazing like a minor star on another plane of existence.

Celebrimbor nodded. “It works as intended.”

“Good. Then at least that part of the plan will work.” Fundin ran his hand over his forehead. “You have the map? You remember the escape routes?”

“I do.” Celebrimbor patted his pack.

“Promise me you will stick to the main hallways. No crawling into collapsed tunnels, no leaping over cracks and crevasses – in short, no heroic idiocy.”

“Have you ever known me to engage in heroic idiocy?” Celebrimbor asked.

Fundin just looked at him with an utterly flat expression.

Celebrimbor tried to smile. “Don't look at me like that. We won't take any unreasonable risks, and we will stick to the main tunnels as far as we can. Though it might be that some of the wounded will not be able to make their way through them, even if they are still accessible after the earthquake.”

Fundin looked at the disabled machinery, where five Dwarven workers were currently trying to cinch a second elevator cage to the steel cable of another crane with a massive carabiner. “We will try to get all elevators working again as quickly as possible.”

Celebrimbor nodded, but both of them knew that these were empty assurances. If they did indeed manage to find survivors, chances were that they wouldn't be able to wait for the elevators to work again. It had been nearly two days after the cataclysm, and any survivor down there was likely to die soon, no matter what happened. Habbad-Dûm was lying at a depth that made it impossible for someone to climb back to the level of Khazad-Dûm, even if they were strong and healthy and didn't die of injury or thirst on the way.

And yet – there was no other chance for them. Without help, they would die for certain.

Celebrimbor looked around at the group of Dwarves who would accompany him. He didn't know most of them, but he knew that all of them were seasoned engineers, guards, and miners who had volunteered to brave the deep with him. Floki had insisted on coming along as well. The dwarf looked harrowed and there were dark bags under his eyes. Thinking back, Celebrimbor couldn't remember when he had last seen Floki without a big grin on his face, but today his brows were furrowed, his mouth downturned, and his eyes dark.

Also, there was the Dwarven woman whom Fundin had called Branka. She was of the House Deepdelver and obviously ordered to come along to be Duma Deepdelver's eyes and ears down in Habbad-Dûm. Celebrimbor didn't doubt that Branka would be watching every step he made. She would be on the lookout for anything that might have indicated foul play on his part on behalf of Duma. He would have to be careful around her. He was blameless as far as the Balrog was concerned, but he had no influence over what Branka would see in the abyss and what conclusions she would draw from it.

Fundin followed his gaze and his brow furrowed. “I knew her well, once,” he said quietly. “We were friends.”

Celebrimbor looked the Dwarven woman over. Her posture was stiff and she seemed nervous. She was standing close to Duma, who was speaking with King Durin some way off from the elevators. “Can I trust her?”

Fundin didn't answer immediately. “No,” he said at last. “She is loyal to her house above everything else.”

“I understand.” Celebrimbor looked away. It was far from an ideal group with which to embark on a mission that was dangerous at best and fatal at worst. But it wasn't as if he had been given any choice in the matter.

Fundin eyed the shaft with trepidation. “Are you sure about the Balrog?” he asked at last, quiet enough that the Dwarven nobles who were standing at some distance wouldn't hear them.

Celebrimbor followed his gaze down the dark open hole that would swallow them soon on their descent, then shook his head almost imperceptibly. “I really hope it is dead,” he said. “If it isn't … well, my uncle Celegorm always told me I was good at thinking on my feet. I'll find a way to deal with it. Make it run in circles if I have to. If anything, I can always squeeze myself into a crevice that's too small for it and distract it while the others run.” He grinned without really meaning it.

Fundin exhaled sharply, but didn't say anything else.

Celebrimbor bent down to check his provisions and equipment one last time. He dug through the various pockets of his pack, but it appeared that he had everything he needed: maps, torches with light-stones, water, some non-perishable food, a length of rope, and pieces of chalk to mark which passages they had already searched. The only piece of weaponry he took with him was a shortsword that he had strapped to his back. Anything else would be too heavy – and not much help against a Balrog either way, since the only remotely good way to fight those things was with a heavy ballista, preferably from a mile away. Celebrimbor knew that some of the miners would also be taking along explosives to clear paths that had been blockaded by the earthquake, while a few guards were carrying heavier weapons to defend the group if needed.

It would not be enough, but at the same time. . . It had to be enough.

Celebrimbor took a deep breath before turning back to the waiting party of Dwarves, chief among them King Durin and the other nobles. This seemed to be the signal the other members of the rescue team had been waiting for. A ripple went through the other Dwarves who would be coming down with Celebrimbor. Slowly, each of them straightened their posture, picked up their backpacks, and slowly approached the elevators, finally coalescing from waiting individuals into a single group with a shared purpose.

King Durin noticed the change too and broke off whatever he had been saying to Velech Blackhammer. The king stepped forward and looked at the group that was about to descend to Habbad-Dûm. “Are you ready? Do you have your provisions, your weapons, your light sources?”

The Dwarves silently nodded, one by one, except for Floki, who bared his teeth and growled, “Aye.” When Durin's gaze landed on Celebrimbor he nodded as well, even though his palms were slightly clammy and his heart was pounding against the inside of his ribcage. He hadn't been nervous before, but now he could feel the cool, prickling sensation of anxiety and tension creeping up his spine and into the tips of his fingers and toes.

The preparations and the planning had taken too long. He didn't like lingering on the precipice of something like this. He couldn't stand waiting if he knew something had to happen, and the longer he waited the more likely he became to shoot caution to the wind and just plunge into whatever lay ahead. But Celebrimbor knew that they couldn't afford to be anything less than absolutely diligent about this. Thus he had forced himself to wait: for the others to plan, draw up maps, gather volunteers, collect information. By now his heart was beating wildly and he felt both hot and cold all at once, wishing for nothing more than to simply be able to start.

The Dwarves didn't appear to notice his nervousness – save for Fundin, that is. His old friend was giving him a side-glance that told Celebrimbor that Fundin knew everything that was going on inside him. Fundin had always been more perceptive of the invisible, hidden things than most people. Thankfully, though, he didn't mention it.

“Good luck then,” Durin said. His brows were furrowed and his face grey. He seemed to have aged fifty years overnight. “Remember to stick to the main passages – they have more structural support and should be safe even after the earthquake. You may go down to Habbad-Dûm and try to rescue whoever might still be alive, but I will not allow this to become a suicide mission. If you consider your own lives to be in danger, turn around and come back. Three blows into Hardin's horn, and we will lower down the elevator to pull you up. No one will think less of you for returning.”

The dwarf named Hardin, who was clutching a great bronze horn, nodded with a sombre expression. The rest of the group exchanged grim glances and then signalled their agreement with more nods and quiet grunts.

“Good.” Durin turned towards the Dwarven workers still working on the mechanisms. “Does the crane hold?”

“Aye,” one of them said. “No damage to it, and the winch will hold the weight of the cage easily.”

Durin nodded, then turned back to the group. “In that case… be well.” He looked from Dwarf to Dwarf solemnly. “Know that the realm owes you its everlasting gratitude for your incomparable bravery. We are in your debt – I am in your debt.” Then Durin's eyes landed on Celebrimbor. “Bring home as many of our brothers and sisters as you can find… but know that you must turn around if it becomes clear that there are no survivors or that it is too dangerous to carry on.”

Celebrimbor looked to Durin's left and his eyes met those of Harko Bristlebeard; for a moment everything and everyone else faded into the background, and it was as if he and Celebrimbor were alone in the cavern. The Dwarven patriarch's eyes were dark and hard as steel. Come back with my son or not at all, they said.

And then there was nothing more to say.

At a sign from Durin, three Dwarven workers rotated the arm of the crane with the elevator cage out over the yawning empty shaft. The long steel cable had been fed into the winch and secured once more; this would let down the cage. One after another, the Dwarves of the mission filed into the cage. Then at last Celebrimbor stepped forward, the toes of his boots poking out of the smooth edge of the shaft, over the small gap between the elevator cage and the point where the ground beneath his feet dropped away into nothingness. Only here and there a few lampstones were shining with a faint greenish light, giving a bit of brightness to the endless darkness down the shaft. A cold breeze wafted up from the shaft and hit his face, grazing over Celebrimbor's cheeks like ghostly hands. His heart was pounding and he felt slightly light-headed for a moment.

“Kurfi,” Fundin said directly behind him, his voice quiet.

Celebrimbor looked back over his shoulder, not taking his hands off the wire cable.

“Promise me you won't do anything stupid,” Fundin said. “Promise me that if something happens – you run.”

A few moments of silence ticked by. The two friends looked at each other, both knowing that it might well be the last time they saw each other.

“Goodbye, Fundin,” Celebrimbor said at last, trying to smile. Fundin didn’t return it. The promise ungiven hung heavily in the air between them.

I am sorry, my friend, Celebrimbor thought. But this is a promise I cannot give you.

Then Celebrimbor stepped into the elevator cage. Slowly, the latticed doors slid shut with a clanging of metal. One of the Dwarves signalled the workers at the elevator crane and with a slight lurch, the cage started to descend.

Celebrimbor thought he could almost feel the empty air on the other side of the thin bottom panel of the cage. The cold air slithered up into the elevator, brushing his cheeks and his bare forearms. The opening above, a circle of warm lantern light and the crane silhouette above, quickly shrank to the size of a ball, then a fist, then a pinprick. The lampstones that had been built into the walls of the shaft drifted by like fairy lights, like bioluminescent fish rushing upwards to the surface of the ocean, seemingly fleeing whatever was chasing them from the black depths of the sea.

*

Celebrimbor could not have said how long they descended. He hadn't been able to gauge it either the last time he had come down here, and he was faring only marginally better now. He leaned against the grid of the cage and regarded his fellow travellers on this desperate mission, most of whom were not even looking at him. All of them were standing at a slight distance from another, which was easy enough when the cage allowed space for fifty Dwarves, and they were only thirteen of them.

Are they truly all here of their own free will? Or did duty or orders from their matriarch or patriarch drag them into it? He hoped not, but feared that it was more than likely.

Are they afraid to go down? he wondered, and almost immediately he heard Alfin's voice in his head and saw his wry smile.

Is a fish afraid to dive to the bottom of the ocean?

Maybe not, but what if the fish knew that a monster was possibly down there, waiting to devour it? Celebrimbor closed his eyes and tried to force his thoughts away from circling around darkness and fire.

At some point, he started to hear the Song of the Mountain again, though it sounded less welcoming this time. It sounded like a warning, if not downright hostile.

Turn back, it seemed to say. Flee, while you still can.

The air grew warmer as they descended, much as it had done the first time that he had come down here. It couldn't be much further now, Celebrimbor thought. He tried to look up, tried to imagine how far above Khazad-Dûm must lie – and then tried not to imagine how they were supposed to get any of the probably heavily wounded survivors back up this immeasurable distance, back into Khazad-Dûm.

Take it slow. One step after another. Deal with those problems when they arise. Celebrimbor took a deep breath and then closed his eyes for a while. They were burning with fatigue. How long had it been since he last slept? It was hard to tell. Two days, maybe three. Celebrimbor kept an irregular sleep schedule at the best of times, but the last few days had been hardly that. He didn't feel tired at all, and yet he knew that beyond his fear, his excitement, and relentless willpower, his body longed to sleep, to rest, if only a bit. Still, closing his eyes only led him to see darkness and flames, closing doors, and – something he had not seen in a long time – shadows fleeing over a muddy battlefield, the cries of panicked voices, the shade of his father by his side. Curufin's mouth was moving, but no sound came out. Still, Celebrimbor could read from his lips what he was saying: Run, Tyelperinquar. Run, run! And then there came more shadow, and more flame.

Celebrimbor opened his eyes again just as the elevator came to a slightly shuddering halt.

For a few moments, everyone just looked at each other, not sure what they should do now, almost unwilling to leave the relative safety of the elevator and step out into this maze of tunnels that held almost certainly worse things than mere darkness.

At last, one dwarf reached out to push a button and the doors of the elevator slid open.

“Well then,” Floki said grimly, hefting a big warhammer in his hands. “After me. Let's go find some of the poor sods who are still down here. The sooner we start, the sooner we can go back up.”

Surely Floki was not the most high-ranking dwarf here, and no one had officially been entrusted with leading the mission. Still, no one raised any objections and one by one, the rescue team filtered out of the elevator until they were all standing in the great cavern.

Only a few lampstones were still burning and almost all of them were giving off a dull red glow, casting the cavern in small islands of dim light and an ocean of stark, black shadows.

At the opposite side of the cavern there were the two massive mithril double doors that guarded the entrance of Habbad-Dûm. They stood as tall and proud as ever, engraved all over with runes of protection and warding that seemed to still be in place. The doors themselves were unharmed, but where they had been standing open when Celebrimbor had come here before, they were now firmly closed.

All of a sudden Celebrimbor noticed that everyone was looking at him. Naturally, since he had the ring that could lead them to the surviving dwarves.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, yes.” He focused on the ring and thought of the spell that he had imbued it with. … in the darkness find them.

Celebrimbor's heartbeat quickened when he saw faint glimmers of silver thread stretching away from the ring, into the depths of Habbad-Dûm – so weak that they were almost invisible, but nevertheless there.

“Does that ring of yours tell you anything?” Floki asked.

Celebrimbor nodded. “Yes. There are still survivors down here, but they are further in. Let us go.”

They ventured forward, halting before the great mithril doors. The engineers hesitated a moment before opening it. What was waiting beyond? The door itself looked undamaged, but for all they knew, the Balrog could be lying in wait for them right on the other side of it. If it was still alive, their only hope was that they could sense it before it sensed them, now that the evil creature no longer lay dormant, but had to be oozing its dark aura down every tunnel it stalked.

Again, the group looked to Celebrimbor for instruction. It felt so wrong to stand in a mine and tell Dwarves what to do, but Celebrimbor realized that he had to. This was his idea, his expedition, his responsibility. He might not be the most fitting to lead, but he still had to do it.

“Go ahead. I don't sense anything dark.” He nodded encouragingly at the engineers, who then got to work. There was a small bronze slab engraved with runes embedded in the wall next to the door. The engineers huddled around it, so Celebrimbor couldn’t see what they were doing, but he noticed them fiddling with strange tools unknown to him and whispering among themselves in Khuzdul, quiet enough that Celebrimbor couldn’t make out the words. After only a short while he heard a soft metallic clicking that told him that the engineers had, through some hidden process, managed to reverse the locking mechanisms.

With a grinding sound of metal on stone, the doors rumbled open. Beyond them lay the common cavern, and from it seven tunnels stretched away into darkness.

Celebrimbor felt his heart beating quickly, but his thoughts were strangely calm. Without a moment's hesitation, he stepped over the threshold. Floki grunted under his breath and then hurried forward to walk by his side.

“You know what you're doing, Kurfi?”

“Yes,” Celebrimbor said, somewhat surprising himself because it was the truth. He knew what he was doing. He knew where they had to go and he was certain that he could lead the others there.

They proceeded in careful silence, not exchanging words save for quietly announcing that the way was clear. And yet, after each opened door that greeted them yet with another empty, silent corridor, the tension ramped up higher. It was too quiet. The silence this deep under the mountain felt unnatural, and yet it felt even more violating that they should disturb this eternal quiet with the sounds of their steps, their hushed whispers, and their bated breath. The dwarves were disquieted and restless, their eyes wandering up the walls and the ceilings, as if the Balrog could cling there, waiting like a spider to drop down on them. But they saw no other creatures and heard nothing, even after they had walked for what must have been half an hour. However, Celebrimbor noticed Branka keeping a close eye on him every time he moved or spoke, her hands always on the hilt of her sword.

The engineers disabled yet another door and Celebrimbor entered another of the vaulted nexuses where many tunnels branched off. Seven tunnels in total led away from it, not counting the one that they had come from.

“Where to now?” Floki asked.

Celebrimbor focused on the ring, and then pointed to a tunnel to their left. According to Alfin, it led to the old parts of the mines. It had been barred by a sturdy wooden door before that had been engraved with runes of protection, but the door stood open now. A skein of silver threads extended down the tunnel, a weak echo of the Dwarven souls that were answering to the call of the ring. The tunnel that he was pointing down was not lit by any light stones at all. “Down there.”

A cold shiver seemed to run through the group. The Dwarves knew where this tunnel led, and they did not love that place.

Briefly, all of them stood rooted to the spot, looking down the forbidding darkness of the tunnel. The blackness that came spilling forth from it was so thick that it seemed almost like a tangible thing. As he looked at the mouth of the tunnel Celebrimbor was suddenly gripped by an acute, almost insurmountable unwill to proceed. Again the mountain seemed to warn him, almost as if it wanted to chase him away for his own good. Flee, flee, while you still can.

Celebrimbor shook his head slightly and set his jaw. No, he thought. None of this now. He pulled himself together and walked toward the open door.

The group reluctantly followed him. It was a corridor that even some of the more experienced miners didn't recognize. Their hushed questions about where they were headed broke the oppressive silence, and according to their older peers, the tunnel led down to a part of the mines that had appeared promising for mining mithril two centuries ago. However, the yields of the mining had not proven worth the cost of maintaining the site, and therefore it had been closed down about fifty years ago.

“We're headed in the opposite direction of the drill chamber,” one of the miners said to Celebrimbor. “It is a part of the mines that is, to our knowledge, entirely separate from the new mining site. Perhaps that was why some Dwarves chose to hide there, though it must have seemed like a choice between two evils for them. The abandoned mines have become dark places. They must have seen no other choice at all if they decided to hide there.”

Celebrimbor nodded. “Yes. I can sense them. They are weak.”

“How do you know this?” Branka asked suspiciously.

Celebrimbor threw her a quick glance. He hadn't noticed her walking so close to him. The ring was warm on the fourth finger of his right hand, and the skein of silver that extended from it was thin and frayed. “I just know,” he told her quietly. Then he walked on.

They made their way onward. Celebrimbor was acutely aware of the open path that they left in their wake. If anything came after them, it would find its way unobstructed. Their group was becoming easy prey – the Balrog, or any monsters that had risen in its wake, simply had to follow the path that the rescue party had cleared for them.

They entered a great cavern full of abandoned walkways, scaffolding, and mining equipment. Celebrimbor couldn't see the ends of the cavern or the ceiling, but their steps had gained an echo that told of a cavern that might well be half a mile in diameter. They huddled together, taking care to stay away from yawning chasms and only walking over bridges that looked like they might carry their weight.

“What about creatures down here other than the Balrog?” Celebrimbor asked quietly. “Are we in danger?”

A miner named Algrin, who had been walking by Celebrimbor's side for a while now, frowned.

“These depths are never safe, Master Elf. We know that creatures of the dark have made their home here, but what they are and how many of them there are – who can tell? We do not have names for them, and they mostly leave us alone. However, no one wanders these pathways without someone to accompany them. This is a part of the mines that we Khazad did not delve, though we came to it later. The old paths and tunnels can be more treacherous than any creatures of the darkness. Bridges have been known to break, tunnels have been known to vanish or not to lead where you remember them. If you will have my advice, it is this: we should stay together at all costs, and not leave each other's sights. They will not attack a group that they cannot easily overwhelm.”

“What of lone survivors? What of small groups?” Celebrimbor kept his eyes firmly on the narrow stone shelf ahead of them, the only pathway that led them further through the cavern, while to their left a black chasm yawned.

Algrin only shrugged. “They should keep a light burning at all costs to keep the darkness at bay. There is not much more that they can do besides.”

But where would the survivors have found a light to take down here, and on a desperate flight at that? Celebrimbor thought, but didn't ask aloud. He didn't need to hear the answer.

They didn't talk more after that. Somewhere, water was dripping from a high distance and hitting stone with a steady blip-blip-blip. After what seemed like an eternity, they cleared the great cavern and entered another rough-hewn tunnel. Celebrimbor missed the light-stones even more acutely here. The absolute darkness under the mountain was almost unimaginable. What little of the way ahead of them their torches served to illuminate only reminded them more sharply of the even greater space that lay in the darkness beyond. Their torches guttered, and more than once the guards had to relight them. Something seemed to snuff them out time and time again, and every time they managed to relight the torches, they appeared to burn more feebly.

However, the silver thread was stronger now.

“We are getting closer,” Celebrimbor said. Even his words sounded strained, like something invisible was pressing down on his throat and the air wouldn't carry his voice.

There were no more safety doors here. They walked ahead, with the stone all around them pressing in on them. At last, they came to what must once have been an assembly hall. Old wooden tables and benches had been pushed up against the walls, strangely untouched by dust and age. Old tool racks still had some battered pickaxes and awls leaning in them. The air itself tasted like it hadn't moved, let alone been breathed by a living being in decades.

“I don't see anyone,” Floki said.

“They are here,” Celebrimbor said. “They're hiding.” Without waiting for anyone to come with him, he walked forward to a small archway, shut off with an iron-banded wooden door.

Celebrimbor pushed it open – and immediately had to step back and duck out of the way to avoid the handaxe that had come flying for his head. Celebrimbor reeled and ducked, feeling the hiss of air on his cheek when the weapon flew past him, missing his temple by mere inches.

“Back! Back!” someone from inside the door shouted. “Begone, foul creature of Marghâz!”

“What in Varda's name – ” Celebrimbor grunted out, nearly stumbling to one knee.

“Has the darkness made your heads go soft?” Floki roared from somewhere behind Celebrimbor. “Which creature of the Dark One would carry a torch down here, let alone come to rescue your ungrateful heads? Out with you! Out into the light where we can see you!”

When Celebrimbor raised his head, he saw three dwarves standing blinking in the doorway, the foremost of whom had obviously attempted to behead anyone who might come for their hideout. They were pale and wide-eyed, and had obviously been scared just as badly by Celebrimbor opening the door as he had been surprised by them. When he thought about it, he really should have been smarter than to just barge into the room unannounced, when a few dwarves who had been trapped and scared out of their minds had been waiting on the other side.

“Floki – it's fine,” Celebrimbor said and grabbed his friend by the arm. “They didn't mean it – they thought we were someone else.”

“We did, and I apologize for our mistake” the foremost of the dwarves said, a blond woman with a drawn face and dark circles under her eyes. Her braids fell limply around her face as she gave a short, tired bow. “Elva Stonegrinder, at your service. I am sorry for ordering the attack, but we were fearful and tired and we didn’t think there would be a friendly face on the other side of the door.” She looked back over her shoulder at the open chamber. “We have been waiting in there since the alarm went off – nobody knew what was going on, we just heard someone screaming of fire and darkness, and that we had to run. The doors trapped us in here and we have been hiding in the tool chamber ever since. We have heard creatures passing outside and expected that they would come for us sooner or later. They already got Galfi, because he was too slow to cross the Great Cavern. He must have misstepped in the dark and fallen. We knew that it only was a matter of time before they got us as well. In truth, we thought that the next thing we'd hear or feel would be their teeth tearing into us.” She looked their group over, then her eyes remained on Celebrimbor. “But then I see you. Who are you? Are you here to rescue us?”

Celebrimbor nodded. “We are. As for who I am – it shouldn't matter. I am a friend of Durin, Fundin, and Narvi. We came down here to search for those who might have survived the emergence of the – ” He broke off, not sure what to tell the woman, lest he scare her even more.

“The emergence of the Balrog,” Branka said.

Elva's eyes snapped towards her. “A Balrog? Here?” Her face went even paler.

“Which is none of your concern,” Floki said quickly, with a scathing glare at Branka. “It's likely dead by now – or gone. We have seen no trace of it on our way here.”

“I – I see.” Elva looked to Celebrimbor. “Thank you, then. For coming for us. We thought – we didn't believe – ” Her voice wavered briefly. “We didn't think we would see any light ever again.” She looked at her own boots. “Do you have water?” she asked quietly. “We don't know how long it has been, but we must have gone days without food or drink.”

“Of course!” Floki hurriedly slung his backpack from his shoulders and started to unpack it. Celebrimbor and a few other Dwarves did the same.

The three Dwarves gratefully accepted the offered water and bread. After the blonde woman had drunk, she took another waterskin. “If you can spare more, I will bring it to Sigrún, Burin, and Nóri.”

“There are more of you?” Branka asked, handing out loaves of bread and chunks of cheese to the woman's two companions.

The blonde woman nodded. “Yes. Three more. They are still in the tool chamber. They are in bad shape. The darkness seems to have gotten to them, and I haven't succeeded in getting them to tell tales or count, or to move around and stretch. They haven't talked in a long time, and they have gone cold and unresponsive.”

Branka packed up her rucksack and hurried immediately into the chamber, taking her torch with her. A few other dwarves followed on her heels.

Celebrimbor looked after her, then turned towards the blonde woman once more. “Do you think your friends will be able to walk once they have eaten and drunk?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But there is a chance that they won't be able to.”

“Then we will bring you back to the elevators,” Celebrimbor said. “We have enough people here to lead you there and carry your colleagues.”

As it turned out, the three sick Dwarves were able to walk by themselves in the end. Celebrimbor could only guess what had brought about the change in them, be it food or water or fire, but within an hour of their rescuers’ arrival, the Dwarves were able to walk and talk again.

They backtracked quickly through the great cavern, taking the survivors in the middle of their group when they tended to sway strangely, and their steps seemed to draw them again and again close to the edge of the abyss. “Touched by darkness” Elva Stonegrinder had called it, “and now susceptible to its call.” It got easier, however, when they left that part of the old mines and were back on the main road that led to the elevators.

When they reached the elevators, the dwarf named Hardin blew thrice into his horn, and after only a short amount of time, one of the elevator cages came into view. The dwarves above must not have pulled them up completely, so that they wouldn't take as long to lower, which would enable them to get the survivors in faster. The six dwarves got into the cage, and at another call of Hardin's horn, the cage was pulled up.

Some of the remaining dwarves around Celebrimbor looked after it with an almost wistful expression. Celebrimbor couldn't fault them for it. Apparently there were even more insidious dangers down here in the mines than even a Balrog, and judging by their expressions, even most of the guards and engineers hadn't known about them.

But their mission led them into the mines yet, not out of it – many times, if Celebrimbor thought about the answering calls to the ring. They went into the old mines two more times and managed to retrieve eighteen more Dwarves. After that, the old part of the mines rang hollow and quiet to the ring's inquiring calls.

“There are no more survivors in there,” Celebrimbor said. “We must go into the new mines.”

The only answer to his statement was silence. In the new part of mines lay the drill chamber – and with it, the place where the Balrog had emerged. If it was still anywhere in the mines, it would be there.

Celebrimbor tried not to think of this. What it meant if the Balrog was still alive. Do not think of it.

There were still a few souls answering to the ring's call. He could feel them. Maybe, just maybe –

He didn't let his thoughts wander any further than that.

They took the roads into the new mines, and Celebrimbor recognized the route that they had taken the first time he had come down here. The further they went, the more carefully they proceeded. The tunnels were damaged here. Boulders and shelves of rock had fallen from the ceiling due to the earthquake, and they had to pick their way around chunks of debris blocking their path. The closer they got to the drill chamber, the more severe the damage became. They were visibly nearing the epicenter of the catastrophe… and with it, the place where the Balrog had appeared. The air was hot and stuffy. Every time the engineers disabled the locking mechanism of a door and it slid open, they all stood stiff and rigid, as if waiting for something from beyond to descend upon them. But nothing happened – not until they happened upon another vaulted cavern with seven tunnels that led away from it.

Celebrimbor stopped dead as soon as he saw the fires. They were burning, but their flames were discoloured, with a smouldering red that was almost brown and a horrible, depthless black. They formed a trail like blood dripping from a wound, burning on the bare stone floor without any visible means of sustaining themselves, flickering and crackling.

“Rogue fires,” Celebrimbor breathed.

At his side, Floki looked up. “What's that you said?”

“Those are rogue fires,” Celebrimbor said, his gaze fixed on the sickly, evil fire. The past was trying to sink its teeth into him, but he willed himself not to let it. “They are unnatural flames, burning without air or wood, and I know of no means by which they can be doused other than letting them burn out on their own.”

The unspoken question hung in the air, and Celebrimbor forced himself to answer it. “Balrogs leave them,” he added.

“That – that means it is still alive?” a dwarf asked, voice choked. “What do we do now?”

Celebrimbor didn't answer immediately.

He remembered another time, long ago. A day that had never grown bright beyond murky dusk, sunless skies shrouded in ashen clouds. A dark wood, with poisonous leaves and treacherous vines. He remembered a desperate chase alongside his uncle and his father, trying to hunt down a wounded Balrog that had escaped the battlefield. He remembered the stuffy air, his heart beating in his throat, following the trail of destruction that the demon had left in its wake.

Too dangerous to be left alive, his uncle had called it. We must find it and kill it, lest it recuperate and turn around to hunt us instead.

What about reinforcements? What about help? Celebrimbor had asked.

No time. The more hours pass, the more time for its wounds to close and its fire to strengthen again. Don't wait for yourself to become prey, Tyelperinquar. Press the advantage. Stay the hunter – at all costs.

Celebrimbor shook the memories loose and focused on the rogue fires burning before them here and now. They formed a trail that came from the passage leading to the drill chamber. In this cavern, the trail then made a sharp turn to the right and continued down another side tunnel.

“We have to follow it,” Celebrimbor said.

“What?” Branka and Floki hissed, then stared at each other as if horrified that they had had the same thought.

“There are still survivors where it went,” Celebrimbor said with a glance at his ring.

“The Underground Sky chamber is down that tunnel!” Floki exclaimed. “It is a safe space, of course someone would be hiding in there!”

Celebrimbor nodded.

“If we want to save them, we have to go down there – and fast. The fires might have trapped them. The Balrog is wounded at the very least; perhaps it is already dead. We might be able to circumvent it – or perhaps even kill it, if it is weak enough. However, if we don't go there, those Dwarves will die for certain.” He looked to the miners to see if they agreed.

“We could perhaps bypass it,” one of the miners said reluctantly. “It depends on where in the tunnels it is. However, I would advise against going forward. The king himself told us not to put ourselves in unnecessary danger and not to do anything foolhardy. Following the trail of a Balrog is exactly what I would call foolhardy.”

“As is leaving our backs open to a possibly still living Balrog,” Celebrimbor said sharply. “If we leave it alone, it might return and kill us from behind. On the other hand, if it is dead, then we might still have a chance of rescuing those it has trapped in there. In any case we cannot go forward in any direction so long as we don't know where it is or what state it is in. We put ourselves in mortal danger no matter what we do.”

“Then we must turn around and abandon our mission,” one dwarf said.

The words echoed in Celebrimbor's ears for far too long. No, he thought. He knew that everyone else had probably been thinking the same, but allowing such a thing to be uttered aloud would break morale entirely. Celebrimbor had seen it happen too often, on far too many battlefields of his life. If a soldier was truly allowed to think of his impending doom, then he would falter and fall.

Likewise, if he allowed them to think that the only thing they could possibly do was retreat…

Celebrimbor looked around. He could feel the change in the air, the desperation and resignation taking hold. He wanted to say something, but he could not give these dwarves any orders. Nobody could tell them what to do, for they were here of their own free will – but they hadn't truly known what they had agreed to until they came here, and no one of them had volunteered to go toe to toe with a Balrog.

In the end, help came from the most unexpected of sides.

“If we give up here, then we condemn whatever Dwarves remain down here to die,” Branka said all of a sudden.

Celebrimbor looked at her in surprise.

“What help is it to anyone if all of us die in the doomed attempt to sneak up on that demon?” a miner replied.

Branka gave him a hard look. “The elf said that it might be heavily wounded, or mayhaps already dead. Do you really want to forsake the lives of our brothers and sisters without even trying to determine whether there is a chance that we might still save them?”

Uncomfortable silence followed in the wake of her statement. About half of the Dwarves were shifting their weight and avoiding Branka's glare. The other half looked as if her words had encouraged them again.

Celebrimbor didn't know whether it would do any good if he stepped in now, but he couldn't stay silent any longer. With every moment that passed, the chances of survival for any of the Dwarves in the mines grew smaller.

“I know I cannot order you to do anything that you do not want, and I would never presume to do so,” Celebrimbor said. “I have come here to rescue as many survivors as possible, but I would never force anyone to go further than they are willing to. Turn around if you want. I will go forward, and I will take only whoever is willing with me. But I will not leave these Dwarves to deaths of either fire or starvation, so long as there is anything I can do to prevent such a fate for them.”

His seemingly innocuous words had the exact effect he had hoped for.

“The Dwarves turn around while the elf will go on?” one of the engineers said in a low growl. “You do not really believe that this would happen, Elf, do you? Not in a thousand years! You might have had the idea for this mad undertaking, but these are our brothers and sisters trapped down here. We will not be outdone by you and turn tail now, just because just because an elf graciously gave us his leave to do so, while claiming the show of chivalry for himself.”

And with that, the matter was decided. Even if nothing else might have pushed some of these Dwarves further onward, the outrage about being outdone by an elf in courage underground was enough to make even the most hesitant of the group forget about their fear. Celebrimbor could see the steel return to their eyes, and even though it was mixed with enmity towards him, he would bear that burden gladly if only it meant that there was still a chance that they could save …

That they could save as many as were still alive down here.

“Fine,” said Branka, who had apparently decided to take the lead from now on. “The elf, me, and one of the miners will proceed and try to find out where the Balrog has gone. The rest of you stay here. Hide in one of the tool chambers, just in case we rouse the demon and it comes looking for you. We will return as soon as possible. If you deem that you have waited long enough and we still haven't come back, leave the mines and report to the king.”

The other Dwarves nodded.

“That plan is fine by me,” Floki said. “There is just one small thing we’re going to change about it: I am coming with you as well.”

“The more we are, the more likely it is for the demon to notice us,” Branka replied curtly.

“Branka Deepdelver, this Balrog has killed two of my cousins. You do not know me well if you think that there is anything that could keep me from hunting it down and crush its skull with my hammer.” Floki stared her down.

Branka stared back, but at last she relented. “Fine. But do try to be quiet.”

“I can be as quiet as death itself, my friend.”

With that, the two groups parted ways quickly. While the greater part of the group took shelter in one of the tool rooms where Celebrimbor had gotten his helmet two days ago, the group around Branka took off in the direction of the Underground Sky.

“We must be careful,” Algrin said. The seasoned miner had chosen to come with them. “There are side passages branching off from the main tunnel, but as long as we do not know which way the Balrog has taken, we cannot circumvent it with any certainty.”

“If its trail is as clear further down the tunnel as it is now, that should hardly be an issue,” Floki said, pointing down at the flickering dark flames of the rogue fires.

“Probably not,” Celebrimbor said, “but we cannot rely on it entirely. Balrogs can hide surprisingly well and even dampen their fires if they so wish.” Again he thought back at the desperate hunt alongside his father and uncle, and the moment when the ruined beast had dropped down nearly upon them from a rocky outcropping that had been hidden by the thick foliage of the trees. Even Huan hadn't been able to smell it.

Floki grunted. “Well, that's encouraging.”

They made their way carefully forward. Algrin had thrown a rag over his lantern-stone to diminish its light in order to prevent the Balrog from spotting them, but the downside was that they had to feel their way forward in near complete darkness. The lampstones here cast only an eerily dim light, as if something was suffocating their sheen, and the air in the tunnel was thick and smoky, a stark difference from the fresh, slightly damp air that Celebrimbor had noticed the last time he’d been here.

His heart was racing and his hands were sweating, but Celebrimbor hardly felt it. It was as if a veil had been drawn between his mind and his body, and any sensation of fear or exhaustion that he should have experienced was far more dulled than it should have been. The ring on his right hand glowed golden.

“Do you have any experience in fighting Balrogs, Elf?” Branka asked quietly. “You seemed to know these rogue fires at least.”

“More experience than I would normally care for, but far less than I wish I had right now,” Celebrimbor said.

“Tell me the truth: could we even kill it, if it came down to that?” She threw him a side glance, her left hand always hovering near the hilt of her weapon.

She's afraid, Celebrimbor realized. And she wants to hide it at all costs.

“They can be killed,” he replied. “Same as any other creature: they die if you stab them enough times. The trouble is getting close enough to do so, and not dying to their claws, their fire, or their whips beforehand.”

“They carry whips?” Branka asked, aghast.

For a moment Celebrimvor was taken aback by the realization that she truly didn't know - that there were entire generations of Dwarves and Men who had lived and died without seeing a Balrog, without fighting on the battlefields of the First Age. Entire generations who had never lived under Morgoth's Shadow. All of a sudden he felt very old.

“Most of them do – or did,” Celebrimbor replied at Branka’s inquiring glance. "Some of them preferred flaming swords, but the majority seemed to enjoy the whips more.” Celebrimbor's gaze darkened. “They used to keep watch over the slave mines of Angband and Utumno, and they enjoyed beating and lashing those prisoners who could work no longer. Often enough the burn of one of their whips was the last thing those slaves experienced. The Valaraukar favoured the cruelty of the wounds inflicted by the whips over the clean death of a sword. On the battlefield it was the same. They took pleasure in hunting down their opponents, crippling them with repeated lashes until they could no longer run. In the end the Balrogs would strangle them with their whips wrapped around their throats. They would never give you a quick death if they could afford to torture you instead. To this day, many believe that Morgoth has never created anything more terrifying and cruel than those demons.” Celebrimbor broke off.

“As if it wasn't enough that they are demons of fire and flame,” Branka said. “They carry weapons as well!”

“Yes, that does seem terribly unfair, doesn't it?” Celebrimbor gave her a humourless smile.

“It does. And yet fate has never cared about fairness, and whoever allows himself to be deterred by unjust odds will never achieve anything meaningful.” Branka's face was hard and determined in the dim sheen of Algrin's lantern.

Celebrimbor looked at her for a moment. “That is true,” he said at last.

After that, they fell silent, very much aware that every sound they made was a gamble with fate. They crept forward as softly as they could through the murky twilight. On three occasions they had to backtrack and take a way around a side tunnel because patches of demonic fires were blocking their way. The further they traveled, the more Celebrimbor noticed a change in the air that had nothing to do with the burnt taste of smoke that grew stronger the further they progressed. There was terror itself in the air, caused by the very presence of something dark and terrible and unnatural.

It is not dead, Celebrimbor thought and he distantly noted the knot of dread that was forming in its stomach. A look around at the faces of Algrin, Floki, and Branka told him that they were feeling it too, and instinctively knew what it meant.

The tunnel curved and twisted, never allowing them to see what lay around the next bend even though each one was only ever just about twenty feet ahead.

Their breathing grew more and more shallow, and their pace slowed almost to a crawl. Every corner was another possible trap, and they all knew it.

The silver skein that signalled the presence of survivors grew stronger and thicker until Celebrimbor could see the multiple threads it was made out of.

So many of them. We must get them out at all costs.

Even if nothing else had pushed them onward, the fact that so many people were still there, living, maybe waiting, caught in a state of utter terror, because a Balrog was lying in wait for them like a cat in front of a mouse-hole…

Turning around wasn't an option. It had never been, but seeing the possible ends of his choices laid out so clearly before him, Celebrimbor’s determination to free the survivors hardened into something beyond a mere decision: it had become a fact that had simply not yet come to pass. Celebrimbor was glad that the faces of his companions showed the same grim determination that he felt. There is still a chance, he told himself. We cannot give it away.

They turned another corner and the line of lampstones that had been embedded in the walls at regular intervals stopped. Ahead lay darkness. Then something in the air shifted – and a feeling of terror washed down the corridor like a surge of water.

Algrin stopped immediately and shoved them back around the corner. He positioned himself so that his back was toward the dark part of the tunnel, his chest shielding the light of the lantern, and lifted his hand to make a few quick gestures.

At first, Celebrimbor didn't know what he meant by them, but then he recognized the sign language that Dwarves used both in very loud working environments like the steel works and while among their deaf brothers and sisters.

Algrin noted his confusion, then repeated the signs for him, slower this time. Not far now, Algrin signed. Only around that corner, and there will be a chamber, in which is the door that leads to the Chamber of Stars.

Branka made another quick series of gestures, too fast for Celebrimbor to catch.

No, Algrin answered, slow enough that Celebrimbor could follow. There is only the main tunnel that leads there. It is a dead end otherwise. If the – there was a sign that he didn't catch, and Celebrimbor supposed it had to be the sign for 'Balrog' – is anywhere, it must be there.

For a few moments neither of them moved or signed anything. Distantly, Celebrimbor felt his own heartbeat pounding in his chest. His head was swimming in the stale and smoky air. Perhaps it would even turn poisonous if they went any further. Or perhaps it already was, and he was only now noticing the effects.

What I would give for a mining bird right now…

Then again, even if the bird would have warned them, they couldn't just turn around. Not now that they were so close.

Is there any cover for us when we exit the tunnel? Floki signed.

Algrin shook his head.

They fell silent again, mulling over their options until it became clear that there were only two. Either they turned back, or they went forward – and risked that the Balrog would see them as soon as they exited the tunnel.

Celebrimbor closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

I go, he signed clumsily. If there is no danger, I call, you come?

Stupid plan, Branka and Floki signed simultaneously.

Do you have a better idea? Celebrimbor signed back.

No answer came.

I go, Celebrimbor signed again. He drew his short sword and turned around, edging forward inch by inch. The corridor was almost entirely dark, lit only by the faint glow of the lampstones down by the tunnel nexus at the end of their side tunnel.

By now the air was so thick that breathing itself felt more like drowning. Each time Celebrimbor inhaled it felt as if he was drawing in water. Celebrimbor could feel the smoke sinking down heavily in his lungs, but it burned less than he would have expected. He pressed himself up against the wall, trying to make himself as small a target as possible.

At least Balrogs couldn't breathe fire. If it had been a dragon waiting for him down there, it could have simply breathed fire down the tunnel and turned the entire passage into a furnace so hot that not even cinders would have been left of their little group.

Celebrimbor crept forward until the faint glow of the lampstones became suffused with something else – another light, this one dark red, like dying embers glowing in a hearth.

It is here.

Another pulse of terror shot down the tunnel from the direction of the Chamber.

And it is alive.

Celebrimbor made his way to the mouth of the tunnel, still pressed up against the stone, his sword gripped firmly in hand. There was a slight outcropping of rock that hid the vaulted cavern from view. Celebrimbor held his breath as he leaned forward and looked around the outcropping.

At first he saw nothing save for the cavern and the tunnels that led into it. Across from his own position, he could see the closed door of the Chamber of Stars. The ring on his hand was now almost vibrating with power. Its glow had become so bright that Celebrimbor ran a very real risk of being seen in the dark, and the metal band had become so hot that it was nearly burning his skin.

And then, all of a sudden, a great shadow at the other end of the cavern moved. It was as if someone had blown into the ashes of a dying fire, rousing the flames to life once more. Red and orange fire lit up in shimmering veins running down the length of the shadowed form and billowing smoke rose off its bulk. There was something that sounded eerily like a rattling intake of breath, and then the Balrog detached itself from the deeper darkness around it and moved, slinking toward where Celebrimbor had hidden himself.

Celebrimbor pulled his head back.

Stars and suns. He pressed himself up against the cold stone. It is alive, and still moving. And it is guarding the Chamber of Stars like a cat guarding a mouse-hole. We have to kill it or lure it away.

The notion seemed ridiculous. How am I supposed to deal with a demon that even Annatar wasn't able to defeat? he thought, but immediately pulled back from the thought of his friend, as quick and instinctive as if his mind had been burned. The idea redirected itself around that painful place.

It is impossible.

At this thought, the shade of his father seemed to materialize next to him. Impossible? Curufin sneered. No, Tyelperinquar, nothing is impossible. 'Impossible' is just an excuse that we tell ourselves so that we might stop trying in good conscience. There is never a reason not to try your best at any given endeavour – or not to try at all.

So… it might not be quite impossible if he really considered it. But it would still be very, very dangerous.

Celebrimbor let out a slow, measured breath. Ah well.

He slowly moved forward again, taking care to keep to the cover of the rocky outcropping.

He immediately realized his error. The Balrog was so close that Celebrimbor nearly tripped over his own feet in his instinctive attempt to scramble backwards. He suppressed the impulse and stayed still, his fingers clutching the sword at this side so tightly that he felt the hilt pressing the band of the ring into the flesh of his fourth finger.

The Balrog wasn't looking at him. It had its back to him, shifting slowly and ever so slightly. The fiery veins along its body were glowing weakly, and it was crouched on all fours, quite out of keeping with the usual bipedal stance of their kind.

Celebrimbor forced himself to watch it closely. It is wounded, he realized. Heavily wounded.

The demon shifted again, as if it couldn't lie still in any position without feeling great pain. It dragged itself away from the walls and towards the middle of the cavern.

Perhaps it is not even guarding the Chamber of Stars, Celebrimbor thought. Perhaps it just … tried to get away from the drill chamber. Maybe it has fled, just like the Dwarves… like a wounded animal, seeking a dark, quiet place to die.

The longer Celebrimbor watched, the more certain he was that he had guessed correctly. The Balrog prowled the cavern with slow, pained movements: crouching, curling up, uncurling, and snorting ragged breaths. Once its eyes roved over the cavern and Celebrimbor could see that its right eye had been destroyed. So it was at least half-blind, then. One of its horns had been cleanly cut off, as if severed from the rest of its body with an incredibly sharp sword. The surface of the cut was so smooth it looked almost as if it had been polished. As it moved, it was dragging one of its hind legs, and barely seemed to be able to support its own weight.

The creature was dying, that much was clear. Give it another day and it would be dead. However, whether intentionally or not, it was still blocking the way to the Chamber of Stars where the rest of the Dwarven survivors were hiding. For them, another day of waiting might mean death too, and therefore, the demon had to be removed.

Celebrimbor hesitated, but only for a moment, before stepping out from his cover and into the cavern. He held his blade loosely at his side as he approached the Balrog on its blinded side. The demon didn't react until Celebrimbor stepped directly in front of it. As it caught sight of Celebrimbor, its head whipped up and its remaining eye flickered. There was a brief moment of absolute stillness and silence on both of their parts – then all of a sudden the demon reared up and lunged for Celebrimbor with a terrible shriek.

Celebrimbor had expected the attack. He stepped back, slashing his sword right over the snout of the demon and with a gurgling cry of pain it flinched back, landing heavily on its side. Its claws scrabbled over the ground, but they left only small scratches where it would have dug gouges out of the stone at the peak of its strength. When it tried to rise again, it's legs gave out under its weight. It screeched again, high and horrible, like nails on a chalkboard, and then it fell back.

Celebrimbor looked at it without sympathy, then he turned around and walked back down the tunnel. Branka, Floki, and Algrin perked up when he rounded the corner to where they had been waiting. Algrin started to sign something, but Celebrimbor just shook his head.

“No need for that. The Balrog is done for.”

Branka's eyes went wide.

“What did –” Floki started, then his gaze dropped to the sword in Celebrimbor’s right hand. “Hells, Kurfi, did you kill it?” Floki asked, incredulous.

“No,” Celebrimbor said. “I thought I might leave that particular honour to you.”

 

The Balrog didn't even make a sound when Floki crushed its head with his hammer. It just twitched once, then the tension left its massive body and it crumpled bonelessly to the ground. The veins of fire on its back and legs faded, until it looked like nothing more than a great heap of coal.

Even after all the deaths it had caused, killing the Balrog was a joyless endeavour. There was no feeling of justice or vindication, just one more inevitable, necessary conclusion in this horrifying, violent series of events.

“That's that taken care of,” Floki said, but his face showed no sign of satisfaction or triumph. Above all else, he simply sounded tired.

Celebrimbor could sympathize. Revenge, no matter how justified, only ever tasted like ashes. It could not right any wrongs or restore any lives.

“Let us free the others,” Branka said. Her shoulders were sloping as well, as if all strength in her had fallen away together with the fear and the tension. She shuffled over toward the door of the Chamber of Stars and knocked. “Brothers! Sisters!” she called. “Come out! The fiend is vanquished, and we have come to bring you home! Open the door!”

It took some time for the Dwarves inside to follow their call, though. Perhaps they couldn't believe that they were really hearing a friendly voice; perhaps they suspected an enemy was playing tricks on their minds. Or perhaps they were just too tired and gravely wounded to react any faster.

A few minutes passed, then there came the sound of a key being turned in a lock, and the door swung open. One dwarf was standing there, a dirty, wounded, emaciated creature. His beard was tangled and singed, and his eyes were huge and bright and in his ash-smeared face. The dwarf stared at them for a long minute, taking in Branka and Algrin and Celebrimbor, then he turned to watch Fundin wipe his hammer clean of the Balrog's skull. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, wavered. Then he fell to his knees and began to weep.

Branka stepped forward to embrace him, briefly but not without feeling, then stepped past him and went inside to fetch the other dwarves. One by one, the survivors trickled out – ten, twenty, thirty, thirty-eight. Whether due to instinct or coincidence, it appeared as if every surviving dwarf in the newer part of the mines who hadn't been able to evacuate had found their way here.

They stepped outside into the light now, clinging to each other for stability, their eyes wide as they flocked together like scared birds, casting disbelieving looks at the smitten husk of the Balrog. Branka and Algrin carried out six more dwarves who were too injured or too weak to walk by themselves, bringing the count of survivors in the Chamber of Stars up to forty-four.

Celebrimbor just stood there, watching the rest of the rescue party taking care of the survivors without really seeing it. He felt strangely detached from his own body, as if he could slip out of his skin at any moment. Everything felt unreal, as if this was all a dream, and when he walked forward, it was slow going, as if he was walking through water.

He looked around, his gaze sliding off the Dwarves, the walls, the carcass of the slain Balrog. There was something missing, something was not right –

He kept watching, kept waiting, kept looking for another figure to emerge from the Chamber… but it didn't come.

Slowly, Celebrimbor walked forward and into the Chamber of Stars, where within, stars of mithril doused everything in the faintest of silver light. Clean air greeted him, and that familiar aura of peace, but they couldn't quite touch his soul. He felt removed from it all, hollowed out, empty. And even as he looked around, he knew for a fact what he had already felt long before he had entered the Chamber.

The Underground Sky chamber was empty.

Something was stirring in Celebrimbor’s mind, rising from a dark place in the outermost reaches of his consciousness – something that he had shut firmly away in the deepest, most remote recesses of his mind. He had been suppressing it with all his willpower, because he knew that he needed to keep functioning, that there were lives depending on him. It had worked so long as there had been the promise of danger, the urgency of walking forward, the need to plan and act and fight. But now that Celebrimbor had stopped running, the dark thoughts that he had had locked away had caught up with him. A realization that he had been shielding even from himself was rising from the depths of Celebrimbor’s mind. It slithered up his spine, relentless, inexorable, wrapping itself around his throat like cold, clammy hands, ready to choke his breath from his body. Until now he had not allowed himself to think of it; until now he had been holding out hope. Even though the Balrog had been alive, it had been so badly wounded, and there were other survivors, so maybe … maybe …

And then Celebrimbor glanced down at his right hand. The ring on his finger had gone cool and dull. It shone no longer.

No. No. No no no no no.

He turned around wildly then, looking everywhere around himself as he cast his spirit into the ring, calling out into the endless darkness beneath the mountain.

Where are you? Where are you? Answer me, please, please, tell me where you are! You have to be here! Tell me, oh please, answer me! Where are you?

But no matter how often he called, or how he pleaded, there was no answer.

It cannot be – you are of Aulë, I know you are. I know you can hear this. Answer me! Please, please, please… where are you, where are you, tell me, just tell me, please…

But no answer ever came.

Celebrimbor didn't know how long he stood there, his spirit wandering the darkened, empty corridors of the destroyed mine, searching for that one missing silver thread – until someone touched his shoulder. Celebrimbor flinched, his entire being rapidly compressing itself back into the confines of his body. For a moment, everything felt too small, too cramped: he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, the gurgling of his intestines, the small shocks shooting along his nerves –

He staggered, his knees buckling beneath the sudden weight of his body. He would have fallen, had two hands not grasped his upper arms and steadied him.

“Kurfi?”

Celebrimbor blinked and looked down. His head was spinning, but he still managed to recognize Floki, who was looking up at him with a worried expression.

“Are you alright? You didn't look too well right there.”

“I –” Celebrimbor said hoarsely, and for a moment he was no longer sure how to speak. His entire body suddenly seemed foreign to him, and he had no idea how to steer this clunky apparatus. “I am fine, I was just – I was looking – I was hoping –”

Floki's face fell. “I … I see. Don't you – I mean, can your ring sense him anywhere?”

Celebrimbor shook his head. “No – no. No more survivors left. Can't feel anyone else.” He stared at his ring, the metal dark and cold.

Floki squeezed his arms lightly. “I'm sorry, Kurfi.” His voice sounded soft, sympathetic. “But this room is empty – as are all the others, if your ring is right. We've saved all those who have survived. There's no use in staying here any longer.” He took Celebrimbor's hands. “Come on,” he said, tugging lightly. Celebrimbor let himself be pulled along, almost stumbling over his own feet. “Let's go home.”

Let's go home.

The words echoed in his head, again and again and again. He thought of Annatar, and how good a mood he had been in when they had travelled to Khazad-Dûm together, just a few weeks ago. How both of them had been looking forward to seeing the Dwarven city under the mountain, so excited to see its wonders.

I never would have thought that I would leave without him.

Even now, the thought was bizarre, unreal.

The mere prospect seemed like a nightmarish dream and a betrayal all at once. Like throwing a still-living comrade into a grave and starting to fill in the hole around them while they still pleaded for air.

As if from a great distance, Celebrimbor noticed that everyone around him was packing up, readying themselves to leave. He saw Floki and Branka talking to some of the other Dwarves as they helped them stand, but he could barely understand what they were saying; could hardly make out even simple words. His head was full of white noise, drowning out everything else into unintelligible babble.

He didn't speak a single word the entire way back. Floki had to watch out for him and pull him along, gently talking to him and coaxing him to walk on, step for step.

When the elevators came into sight, Celebrimbor stopped in his tracks. He could only stare, unseeing, as Hardin blew his horn thrice, and two cages were quickly lowered down.

The other Dwarves were too busy helping the wounded and infirm into the elevators that would take them to safety to notice when Celebrimbor slowly turned around again, facing the darkness of the tunnels once more.

I am going to leave without him.

“Kurfi? Kurfi, are you ready to go?”

Celebrimbor slowly turned around to find Floki, who was standing by the elevator doors gesturing at him. Or, at least, that’s what he thought Floki was doing – Celebrimbor’s vision was wavering, distant, and he couldn’t really see the Dwarf anymore.

“Kurfi, come, we cannot dawdle here any longer. We have sick people here, and some with heavy burns, all of whom need treatment. Come, you don't look well yourself – you need to eat, drink, rest. We need to go up!”

Up. And leave everyone else down here. Those they couldn't help. Those for whom they had come too late. Those who had been lost to either the fire or the darkness.

The other half of his soul.

If he walked away now, it would forever remain down here, trapped in eternal darkness and under miles of cold stone.

Celebrimbor’s heart beat painfully, as if it had been torn right in the middle.

“Kurfi?” Floki repeated.

Celebrimbor just stared at him, uncomprehending. He blinked once.

“Kurfi – come on!” Floki waved once more. Something must have passed over Celebrimbor's face then, because even before he turned away, Floki's eyes were widening. “Kurfi – no, no! Come back!”

But Celebrimbor didn't even hear him anymore. He was running, running as fast as his legs would carry him, back to the tunnels and the darkness. He thought he heard someone shouting behind him, but the sound was unimportant.

He couldn’t leave yet. Even though there was no one answering his calls. Even though the ring on his right hand was cold and lifeless. He couldn’t walk away from this, knowing that there was something more that he could have done, someplace else that he could have searched, something else that he could have tried.

Cold air rushed about him – it was suddenly freezing down here – but he didn't stop.

He ran, taking the turns with utmost certainty, as if he had been walking them for years. Of course he hadn't, but it didn’t matter now. He might not know how to navigate most of this maze of tunnels down here, but the route he was racing down now was clear in his head. It would be forever burned into his brain.

Into the common hall, down one tunnel, another cavern, down another tunnel, bypassing the cavern from which they had reached the Chamber of Stars. He leapt over the dying rogue fires, burning his shins, but he hardly noticed the pain.The further he ran, the hotter the air became again, because of course the forces and the heat that had reigned here only two days ago wouldn't have allowed the stone to cool again. The soles of his boots began to melt and stick to the ground, but still he didn't stop.

The next wall of rogue fire was too high to leap over, so Celebrimbor simply ran straight through the flames instead. He didn't feel the burns, neither on his shins nor on his ring-finger, where the band of metal had grown hot enough to glow.

All his mind and all his spirit were focused on a single place, a single task, and it didn't leave any room for him to truly register anything else: neither the heat that was quickly becoming unbearable, nor the charred husks of what had once been miners and engineers littering his way at every step, nor how the number of corpses grew the closer he came to his destination.

He clung to but a single thought: there was one place where he had not looked for Annatar, and he would never forgive himself if he left without going there.

There is never a reason not to try.

The great doors to the drill chamber had melted completely. They now existed as a single, shimmering puddle on the floor of the ante-cavern, shining like quicksilver and smooth as glass. It looked like a lake had formed right at the entrance of the drill chamber.

Celebrimbor sprinted along the edge of the pool, trying to avoid the molten mithril and the stone walls alike, as both were still radiating almost unbearable heat. He only slowed when he reached the threshold of the drill chamber.

It must have been so hot inside: he knew that from the pool of molten metal, the rogue fires, the shimmers in the air he could still see ahead. But Celebrimbor felt nothing of this, and slowly, he walked inside.

The chamber within was barely recognizable. Great parts of the ceiling had caved in and chunks of stone and debris were strewn everywhere. The drill was a puddle of molten metal around the hole that it had been digging. The pool of liquid mithril and adamantium was still glowing red-hot, dousing the cavern in a dull orange light despite the fact that every lampstone had shattered or melted down. The ground itself was broken and splintered into a treacherous, craggy hellscape. The heat and the elements that had been raging here had left every hard edge molten and rounded, every surface smooth and glazed over.

Slowly and carefully, Celebrimbor picked his way forward between the steaming stone and the smoking walls. He focused on the ring once more, desperately casting his spirit into it and from there out into the darkness, expanding himself until he filled the cavern, trying, trying, trying to find that one last bond to Aulë that he was looking for…

In the end, it was not the ring that allowed Celebrimbor to find Annatar.

He had walked into the middle of the room, turning around his body with what parts of his spirit still remained within it – the other part had flung itself out into the non-corporeal void, calling without ever getting an answer.

Celebrimbor turned, his eyes roving over debris and chunks of stone, over patterns of darkness and dull light – until they snagged on something white that appeared to be wedged in between two boulders and almost covered by smaller scatterings of debris.

Celebrimbor stopped in his tracks as his focus broke, and the entirety of his soul collapsed back into his body with a force that almost made his legs give out beneath him. He just saw a few small patches of stained, dulled white, almost invisible in the gloom of the cavern, giving off no light of its own.

As he walked closer, more contours and sharper lines appeared out of the darkness, elevating what had at first been a near unrecognizable image from merciful obscurity into awful clarity.

Celebrimbor's steps shuddered, halted, then grew faster and faster until he was running. When he reached the still form, he stood frozen for a moment, staring at it, looking, but not allowing himself to truly understand what he was seeing – and then he began pulling chunks of rock off the lifeless body with a strength that he shouldn’t have possessed, flinging them aside almost as an afterthought. The ring of Aulë's bond was burning on his finger like a small sun.

When he had cleared away the debris around it, the figure appeared almost as if it was resting – as if it had only been sitting down, and not slammed into the wall of the cavern with great enough force to make the stone at its back crack. But what ruined the image were its arms, which hung limp at the figure’s side – and its head, which lolled and drooped as it never would have in life.

Celebrimbor dropped to his knees beside the figure. His hands hovered over its shoulders, inches above the torn and tattered fabric. He looked at the still ruin of a face, the ashen-coloured locks sticking to its bloodied cheeks and forehead, the few dirty strands hanging limply over closed eyes.

“Oh, Annatar.”

Celebrimbor could barely feel his own body as he wrapped his arms around Annatar's shoulders, pulling his friend's still form against him. Celebrimbor didn't feel anything as he did. Something inside of him had collapsed and retreated to a place very, very far away, too deep to reach right now.

Celebrimbor sat back on his heels, cradling the still form against his chest. He felt the rough bristle of Annatar's burnt hair brush his cheeks, Annatar's own skin lifeless and cold where it touched Celebrimbor's. There was no more warmth around him now. It was as if a flame that had gone out. No, more than that – Annatar felt like a star that had collapsed from fiery radiance into a bottomless well of emptiness and cold. When Celebrimbor reached for the searing halo of power that had always radiated around his friend, the only thing that answered him was a cold, empty void that swallowed even the sweltering heat around them.

He didn't know how long he sat like that, and he didn't know when he noticed. Perhaps too late, because everything was so numb and Celebrimbor was dimly aware that he wasn't functioning properly anymore.

As it was, he didn't notice the movement until two arms came to rest around his back, their touch slow and feather-light. There was a brush of matted, tangled hair and rough skin against his cheeks, and then – a voice. Raw and low, almost too quiet to be heard, but it didn't matter, because the words were spoken directly into his ear and they were meant only for him to hear:

“I knew you would come back.”

---

Chapter End Notes

Reunited at last.

In case you were wondering, Marghâz is the Khuzdul name of Morgoth, and solely my own invention. I wanted to put in a footnote first, but upon further thinking I decided (for understandable reasons) not to link from the middle of the chapter to the end, where a keen eye might take note of the last few lines.

That being said I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you liked (or didn't like) in particular, which line stood out to you the most, which scene you enjoyed most - I'm here for all of it, and more. Comments are the cherry on top of my cream, and I delight in each and every one of them.