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

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III.2

With their unresolved argument putting a strain on his relationship with Annatar, Celebrimbor and his friends descend to the Deep Paths. Darkness and secrets liehidden in the oldest places under the mountains - more than even Celebrimbor could fathom...

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Celebrimbor did not see Annatar for two days after their argument. This was not the first time they had fought – far from it – but the intensity and the fundamental disagreements in their views, which had led to Annatar's disquieting and (Celebrimbor knew, however much the Ainu might argue it) honest proposal to fight death itself, had left Celebrimbor with the need to keep some space between them for a time.

Sometimes, Celebrimbor thought, he simply forgot that it was a Maia whom he had at his side, and that for all the things they had in common, there were some rifts that could only be bridged with difficulty or not at all. There were times – rare, but nonetheless existent – when Annatar could focus on a topic or a goal with such intensity and reckless abandon that he no longer cared about whether the mortals at his side were comfortable with it. It was at such times that Celebrimbor sought to put some distance between them – both to give himself the opportunity to take his mind off Annatar, and to give Annatar some time to let his enthusiasm or anger cool down to a more reasonable degree.

He just hoped that a bit of time to think was enough to get the foolhardy idea to fight death out of Annatar's head. Not once in the past centuries of their friendship had the Maia managed to unsettle Celebrimbor even half as much as he had with his frankly disturbing promise to remove death itself from existence – the likely impossibility of such an endeavour notwithstanding.

In any case, a bit of separation did wonders to take Celebrimbor's mind off their disturbing discussion. After attending the Wake, he felt lighter and easier than he had felt for days before the event, and it also seemed to have convinced some of the more conservative Dwarven families that he had not meant their kingdom ill by bringing a Maia here. As such, Celebrimbor attempted to mend fences where he could, and tried to at least leave a good impression where he could not.

During this time he often saw Fundin, who seemed to have forgiven him for his transgression. They had had a long talk on the evening before Durin's Day after Annatar had left, and afterwards, during his partaking in the Wake, Celebrimbor had tried to prove that he was serious about being more mindful of Dwarven customs. He and Fundin spoke easier now, and Celebrimbor was glad for it. He would hardly have been able to bear losing such a dear friend to such an insensitive misstep.

Annatar in turn did not try to seek him out, which was frankly a relief. Celebrimbor did not know where his friend spent his time, but now and then he heard rumours about the strange immortal guest having taken an interest in the library and the clocktowers of Khazad-Dûm. All the better if the Ainu had found some ways to pass his time alone. Celebrimbor was still not sure whether Annatar felt at ease in the Dwarven kingdom. He certainly seemed polite and interested enough, but Celebrimbor could not help but notice that neither of them was accepted unconditionally – and if Celebrimbor had noticed this, then Annatar would surely be aware of it as well.

They finally met again when their long-planned excursion to the Deep Paths – the lowest mining levels of Khazad-Dûm – was scheduled to take place. Annatar met Celebrimbor at the doors of his friend’s chambers, and they walked to the designated meeting spot together. Annatar seemed more aloof than usual and rather less inclined to talking, but since he appeared pensive rather than ill-tempered, Celebrimbor let it slide and kept his silence as they walked.

They met the dwarves at a crossing of tunnels where a hydraulic elevator would lower them to the tunnels and shafts where the current mining for iron ore and mithril was taking place.

Floki, Fundin, Lassi, and Alfin were already there waiting for them. Celebrimbor saw Fundin give Annatar an uneasy glance when they stepped out of the tunnel that had brought them here from one of the thoroughfares. However, when Fundin met Celebrimbor's eyes, the dwarf gave him a faint smile.

Floki noticed nothing of the tension in the air and stepped forward to greet Celebrimbor as soon as he reached the group.

“Good to see you here, we were already wondering whether you would show up.” Floki grinned.

“Why wouldn't I show up?” Celebrimbor asked.

“Oh, you'd be surprised how many folks are not too keen to go down there, even if the miracles you can catch a glimpse of are beyond compare,” Floki said. “The deep paths of Habbad-Dûm¹ are not for the faint of heart.”

Lassi, a younger dwarf with a blond beard and one of the mining overseers, stepped forward. “Don't let yourself be fooled by nurses’ tales,” he said to Celebrimbor, giving Floki a side glance. “It is true that the entrances to the Deep Paths are locked for a reason, but if you are careful where you step and listen to the birds, they are not any more dangerous than other parts of the mines.”

Celebrimbor's eyes dropped to the bright yellow bird that Alfin was carrying in a cage. “Are there pockets of gas down there?”

Alfin nodded. “Not too many, but the deeper we go, the less we know about the stone there. The mountain grows stranger the deeper we dig, and we have had some nasty surprises – though none that was catastrophic, thanks to prudent miners and many fail-safes.”

“We have to remain careful, though,” Lassi said. “The adamanit drill brings us three foot deeper into the mountain every day it drills – we must take care to secure the shafts and tunnels properly and explore the caves we find before we go on. There's no telling what we might hit if we just dug on blindly. I'd be lying if I said that we're not going too fast for my own liking at times, but we've either been careful or lucky enough until now.”

“Well, now that we've got a Maia with us, we can surely make good speed for the day without having to worry about any of that,” Floki said. “I can't imagine a bit of magma or a gas pocket would do harm to someone like Aulëndil. Nothing that would ruffle your feathers, am I right?” He turned to the Maia.

Annatar simply shrugged. “I imagine that anything that doesn't ruffle the feathers of your bird would have a hard time ruffling mine.”

Floki laughed.

“I'll thank you to leave the mining expertise to us, foreman of the foundries. You might have made the drill, but miners will operate it,” Alfin said, but it was without bite. “Come along now. The ride down will take some time. The shaft is already very deep.”

Lassi stepped forward and lifted a great key-ring from his belt. The elevator itself was located behind an iron cage and accessible only by a door set into the cage, which Lassi unlocked now. He slid the door aside with a metallic clang and waved the others inside. Even with six people inside, the elevator was spacious enough, and there were two more elevators to either side of the one they would be riding down in.

“How many dwarves travel down here during one shift?” Celebrimbor said.

“Fifty, sometimes sixty, not counting the gear they might need to bring with them.” Alvin set the caged bird down on the floor and pulled a lever. The elevator started to sink soundlessly down the shaft.

“Ah.” Celebrimbor nodded, eyeing the walls of the shaft that were sliding past the elevator cage, upward ever upward. Lampstones were set into the stone of the shaft walls at regular intervals to brighten the eternal darkness under the mountain. They slid past the elevator and drifted upward like the bioluminescent fish in the ocean trenches of Rhûn that Celebrimbor had been reading about in an encyclopedia that one former student had sent him a few years ago as a gift of gratitude for being allowed to study in Ost-in-Edhil.

The thought of a dive, though, brought his mind back to where they were headed now. He turned to Fundin. “Have you ever been down here?”

“I only apprenticed as an engineer for a short time before the king called on me to make me his steward,” Fundin said. “But even then, I never worked in the Deep Paths, only on the upper levels. They do not allow apprentices down there.”

They sunk deeper and deeper for an immeasurable stretch of time. They passed exit station upon exit station at progressively lower mining levels, but the cage just continued sinking further. After a while, it seemed impossible that they should still be descending and not have arrived at the core of the world yet. Celebrimbor tried to look up through the meshed ceiling of the elevator, attempting to estimate how deep they must have sunk, but even with the lampstones still passing them by, the shaft above them was an endless tunnel lost to darkness.

As they continued to descend, Celebrimbor suddenly felt a deep thrumming in his bones and in his veins, like a humming just beyond his range of hearing.

Alfin must have noticed his surprised expression, because he smiled. “Can you hear it?”

“To say that I’m hearing it would be too much, but … it is as if the air itself is vibrating, and the stone and me with it.”

“We call it the Song of the Mountain,” Alfin said. “Most miners start hearing it around a depth of about two miles belowground. We do not know what causes it, and why some hear it while others don't. But it has accompanied us ever since we have started drilling down here.”

“Two miles...” Celebrimbor started, and then trailed off. He looked up again, trying to envision the sheer mass of rock and ore that was resting above their fragile little cage, only an earthquake away from burying the entire Dwarven city under tonnes of stones forever.

“Are you afraid?” Alfin said.

“No,” Celebrimbor said slowly. “I think not, even though my heart is beating quickly. But this song … it makes my very bones vibrate. It is as if the mountain itself had a heartbeat, or breathed. And knowing the weight and mass of the mountain above us – well, it shows you how truly small you are. Have you ever been afraid to come down here?”

“Is a fish afraid to dive to the bottom of the ocean?” Alfin retorted with a wry smile. “Courage, Kurfinni, it takes heart to go to the heart of the mountain – even if you are a Khazad.”

Celebrimbor exhaled and it did indeed do something to ease the pressure that seemed to have built up in his chest. He leaned back against the cage, which gave a slow rattle as its centre of gravity shifted and the steel cable that held the elevator shifted in the groove of the pulley, scraping against the flange.

Annatar was leaning against the cage in the corner opposite Celebrimbor, and his eyes appeared unnaturally bright in the dimness of the shaft. He had not said a word for the entirety of their descent. His posture was reserved and stiff, and his eyes soon flicked away, eyeing the ventilation openings drilled into the wall of the main shaft.

The cage kept descending and silence lowered itself upon the group. The deeper they went, the more oppressive the atmosphere became and Celebrimbor thought he realized now why they wouldn't send an apprentice to work in this environment. Strangely enough, the air also seemed to get warmer instead of colder.

When at long last the elevator stopped, Celebrimbor had lost all estimate of time and distance. For all that he could tell, they had been descending for hours and were now a dozen miles beneath the mountain.

Alfin unlatched the doors and slid them back, then waved the group out and into a great cavern. Celebrimbor estimated its diameter to be about one hundred feet and its height to be about thirty, which was greater by far than he had expected to find in these depths.

At the opposite side of the cavern stood an opening guarded by two massive double doors that seemed to have been made entirely of mithril. More than anything else, this spoke of how seriously the dwarves took these deep places: the doors were six feet thick and engraved all over with runes of protection and warding. They must have been worth more than all the gold and gems in King Durin's treasury itself – and it spoke volumes about the riches that must be hidden here if the dwarves thought it worthwhile to invest such a large amount of mithril to guard the place.

“You now look upon the entrance of Habbad-Dûm, the Kingdom in the Abyss, the deepest part of the Mines of Khazad-Dûm,” Lassi said as he stepped out of the elevator.

“Incredible,” Celebrimbor said, his voice breathless. “And this is where you started mining?”

Lassi nodded. “This is the cavern where we found the first ore vein. After we had ensured the structural integrity of the cave, we dug the first tunnel, which was only about six feet high and eight feet across. Then came the ventilation shafts.” Lassi pointed at the ceiling, which was dotted with narrow black holes that had to be part of the ventilation system. Indeed, the air was remarkably fresh, if also warm. “By fire-setting, we expanded the cave with thermal fracturing and used the extracted ore and mithril to further build structural support. What you see here is the work of five decades – even with the newest technology available back then, we were not able to dig much faster.”

“How old is this cavern?” Celebrimbor asked.

“Three hundred and forty-two years, counting from when the first tunnel was made. But we have not been idle in the meantime, and technology has advanced rapidly. The mining system down here has expanded exponentially since then. With our new drills and explosives, we could cut a cavern this size in only eight months. Also, we were not the first ones to dig down here. When we expanded this cavern, we stumbled upon an entire network of tunnels and walkways, each one older than the oldest stone of Khazad-Dûm itself.”

Annatar seemed to perk up at that.

“So there were already tunnels down here before you even got here?” Celebrimbor asked, astonished.

“Why yes! And what a maze we discovered: halls and walkways, tunnels and shafts, bridges and caves!” Lassi said with a wide, sweeping gesture. “There are quite a few natural tunnels and caverns down here, which is surprising given the depth we are digging at now. We break into them every now and then when we are expanding our own network of tunnels. Dwarves do not usually use paths through the stone other than ones they have dug themselves, but the marvel of this place was too great and the advantage too big not to make use of them!”

“And these doors?” Celebrimbor asked, gesturing at the mighty double doors that now stood wide open.

“To keep the mithril in and thieves and illegitimate visitors out,” Lassi said, more curtly than before. “From here on out, the tunnels are divided into compartments. If we set off an explosion in one part of the mines, we can close down the affected compartment and evacuate safely. Furthermore the doors are fit to contain whatever nasty things we might set off down there while we are digging.”

“You keep mentioning these nasty surprises,” Annatar said, speaking up all of a sudden. “But gas pockets and magma seem like daily occurrences of the trade, and events that you seem to have well-handled, at that. What else is down here?”

Celebrimbor did not know if he only imagined it, but he thought he saw both Alfin and Lassi stiffen.

“The darkness at the heart of the mountain hides some things that are better left alone,” Alfin answered at last, his tone evasive. “Thieves and cutthroats travelling on hidden paths, for one. But these mountains did not belong to us in the beginning of time, and now and then we encounter creatures of the Old World that do not take kindly to us invading their territory.”

“So it is not just the mithril that is supposed to be kept inside by these doors,” Annatar said, narrowing his eyes. “When were you planning on telling us this?”

Celebrimbor threw Fundin a side glance and the expression on the steward's face told him that this was not news to his friend either.

“We hardly encounter them any more these days, Aulëndil,” Alfin said stiffly. “As such, we did not deem it necessary to announce it. For us, some treasures make risks worth taking. The old parts of the mines that were most haunted by such creatures have been long closed up by now, their entrances sealed. As for the newer parts of the mines, we send warriors along with the miners for every primary excavation we do, and the practice has served us well. However, for our excursion I assure you that we will stick to the main roads. They are safely guarded and well-explored and we won't encounter anyone save miners and their birds.”

Annatar did not look pleased by this answer, but he did not argue any further and followed them through the mithril gates and into another cavern. While it was just as big as the first cave, this one seemed to be a natural hollow in the stone. Seven tunnels were hewn into its walls, and Celebrimbor caught glimpses of what had to be storage caves and common rooms.

“This is what serves as the common hall down here,” Alfin said. “The miners sleep here whenever they work more shifts in a few days. You might have guessed that the depth of the tunnel doesn't make an ascent after ten hours of mining an appealing prospect. We also maintain some workshops here, as well as food storage and common rooms.” Alfin walked over in the direction of the doors. “But come over here now! Before we enter the mines, you must be properly outfitted.”

Celebrimbor turned to Annatar and smiled. “Workplace safety again! Isn't that just your favourite topic?”

Annatar seemed even less amused by the prospect of wearing a helmet than he did during their usual discussions about workplace safety regulations and which of those should be applied to one of the Ainur. He threw Celebrimbor a humourless glance. “Go and find a helmet then. I will be waiting here.”

“No helmet for you?” asked Floki. “You'd think you'd want to protect that golden head of yours, Aulëndil, even if it's only your fana we're talking about.”

“I assure you, I know how to look after my own head,” Annatar said drily.

Floki caught Celebrimbor's eyes, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

“There is no convincing him to bow to rules such as these,” Celebrimbor said, shrugging in apology. “He maintains he doesn't need them, and if we start to argue now, we'll still be here three days hence.”

Alfin and Lassi shared a look between them, but didn't contend the matter. While their little group made their way over to one of the storage rooms, Annatar remained standing alone in the middle of the hall: a slender white-vested shape, almost silver-grey in the dim light, craning his head back to study the ceiling.

Strange, Celebrimbor thought. He didn't appear to be so ill-tempered when we met earlier this morning. Annatar had not talked during the elevator ride, and as such, had had no reason or opportunity to get angry at anyone. There was nothing, reasonable or otherwise, that would justify Annatar's suddenly shortened temper. Maybe he is still angry because of our discussion after all, Celebrimbor thought. If so, then Celebrimbor would not bring it up again. If Annatar took issue with the state of the world, that was his own problem and nothing that could be solved by talking. Celebrimbor would not change his opinion just to please Annatar, and if their argument a few days ago was anything to go by, a change of mind in the Maia was entirely too much to hope for. Celebrimbor certainly would not give in merely to give his friend peace of mind. Some truths had to be borne, and there was no way to soften them, terrifying as the concept of death might be for one of the Holy Ones. The intensity of Annatar's agitation had surprised Celebrimbor, though, and in that light, it might not be too far off to assume that his friend was still aggravated.

In any case, it would be better to just let him be, Celebrimbor decided. Either Annatar would come around on his own, or he wouldn't, and in any case, there was nothing Celebrimbor could do, so he turned and followed his friends into the storeroom.

After trying on a few helmets, he found one that fit him comfortably enough. Thankfully, the difference in head size between Khazad and Eldar was not as pronounced as the difference in height.

A few miners entered the storeroom as the last few members of their group were trying to find fitting helmets. Some of them threw the newcomers surprised glances, others sullen glares, though a few greeted them pleasantly.

“Where are you bringing them? They don't look like miners to me,” one of them – a foreman, judging by the three silver stripes stitched to his belt – asked Lassi, gesturing towards their group.

“They are guests of King Durin. Those are Celebrimbor and Aulëndil of Eregion, and this is the king's steward, Fundin Silverhand,” Lassi said. “We are to show them the adamanit drill and the great body of mithril we have found.”

“Ah, then you've come at the right time,” the foreman said. “The new echographs show that it must be one huge hollow down there. Might be the biggest mithril body we've found yet. We're going to make the breakthrough today – if you hurry, you can be there when it happens.”

“And you are not going to stay for the breakthrough?” Lassi asked.

The foreman shook his head. “I've been down here for four days now, so my arms and legs need rest more than my eyes need to see the mother lode. It will still be here in four days when I come back, unless the mithril suddenly grows legs and scampers off, which I don't think is likely. Besides, my wife is waiting for me and she does not stand for tardiness.”

Lassi clapped him on the shoulder. “Go and rest then, brother. We will see you again in four days.”

“And you'll rue the day when you went home to your bed instead of watching the breakthrough!” Floki added with a roaring laugh.

“May an ore shelf drop from the ceiling and hit your head, Floki,” the foreman said cheerfully, which only made Floki laugh harder. “Why are you down here, annoying honest working Khazad, when you should be in the forges and making yourself useful?”

After a few more exchanges in this vein they said their farewells to the departing shift, and after everyone had donned their helmets, Alfin and Lassi led them to the next cavern, which lay behind an even thicker set of doors made of some dark grey metal that Celebrimbor guessed had to be adamanit. He had never before seen it with his own eyes and as they passed the doors, he ran his fingers over the surface of the door. The metal was cool and smooth and spoke of a hardness even greater than mithril. Only reluctantly, Celebrimbor let his hand fall away as he passed, looking back over his shoulder at the doors, wishing for a moment that he had the time to examine it more closely – and then he noticed that he had already fallen behind the group while staring at the door and hurriedly jogged after his friends to catch up.

The cavern behind them appeared to be smaller and of natural make. Seven more tunnels ran off from the cavern, and Celebrimbor thought he could hear the distant dripping of water, as well as a strange thrumming.

The Song of the Mountain again? Or the drill?

It was impossible to determine, and Alfi and Lassi quickly led them onwards and down the third tunnel from the left. It descended slightly, winding its way through the stone in a soft left curve.

“The air is fresh down here,” Celebrimbor remarked.

“Quite,” Alfi agreed. “And it is not even our ventilation system that extends down here. Whoever – or whatever – built or eroded these tunnels did so with fresh oxygen always in mind.” He brandished his torch and in its sheen, Celebrimbor could see that the ceiling of the tunnel had small holes in it, all of them leading upwards, and most of them too narrow even for a child to fit through.

“Water fissures,” he murmured.

“Most likely,” Alfi said. “We think that there are a lot of deep lakes beneath Khazad-Dûm and it would explain a lot if water has been trickling down and eroding these paths for thousands of years.”

They passed more passages and crossroads where other tunnels branched off, most of them sealed by sturdy doors. Others were still open, and the faint clanging of pickaxes could be heard from them.

Alfin and Lassi led the group down a side tunnel. They walked down the passage, following its gentle turns, before they came to a small nexus. Only a narrow side tunnel lay to their left, while a door lay directly ahead of their group. Alfin pulled it open for them and they stepped inside. Beyond lay a chamber that was built in the shape of a small dome. It was about forty feet in diameter and roughly half as high. The walls were absolutely smooth and shimmering even in the near-darkness. No torches burned inside and no tunnels led any further from here, as far Celebrimbor could see.

“What is this cavern?” Fundin asked.

“This one?” Alfin said. “It was one of the chambers that were already here before we came. This one is not for mining, but only for marvelling. Step inside.”

The group walked inside and Celebrimbor almost shivered when he felt a cold breeze of air touch him. The mountain breathes, he thought.

They came to a stop in the middle of the cavern, the dome arching above them like a black sky.

“What now?” Floki asked impatiently. “The stone is remarkably smooth, but why would you have us stand in the middle of the room to admire that?”

“Because you are, as always, hasty when you conclude what other people might want you to do and think,” Alfin said calmly. “Wait and see.” And with that he walked back to the exit and closed a door that had leaned, unseen, against the stone wall.

The cavern was plunged into complete darkness and any sound from the outside was suddenly cut off.

“By the seven hells under Utumno!” Floki shouted. “What are you doing?”

“Do not say that name here!” Lassi hissed.

“I will use whatever names I wish when you lock me in a dark cave, Morgoth be damned,” Floki growled.

“The cavern only yields its secret in the darkness,” Alfin said and Celebrimbor nearly jumped when the dwarf unexpectedly spoke up from immediately beside him. “Look up!”

Celebrimbor did as he was told, and what he saw there made his breath catch in his throat. Even the faintest light had hidden them before, but now that they were standing in absolute darkness, he could see the faintly glowing silver veins that rose from the ground, intertwining and separating like the twigs of bushes as they rose higher and higher – until the veins gave way to a ceiling that was strewn with shining white and silver stars. He felt like standing in a clearing in the woods during a cool moonless night, even though he was miles beneath the surface with only stone around and above him. It was incredible.

“What is this?” he asked breathlessly.

“We call it the Chamber of Stars, or the Underground Sky,” Alfin said. “We do not know who made it or how it came to be, but sometimes we come here for the peace and quiet – there is a feeling of comfort here that goes beyond the calm and the darkness.”

They were right, Celebrimbor realized. Although he was standing in pitch blackness and had quite forgotten which way the exit lay, he did not feel lost or threatened. The chamber seemed to exude a welcoming calm that invited you to stay and just let your thoughts wander in its utter silence.

They remained like this for a while, until Floki, who seemed quite immune to the magic of the chamber, became impatient and they wandered on.

After the darkness and silence of the chamber even the faint light of the lampstones was glaring and the distant sound of mining felt grating at first, and it took Celebrimbor a bit of time to get used to the brightness and noise again.

The marvels of this strange underworld did not cease after the Chamber of Stars, though.

They walked along long, looping tunnels, taking detours and ambling down huge natural caves with stalactites and stalagmites as big as towers. They encountered what looked like a naturally formed fortress that had grown out of the back wall of a huge cavern, the porous stone forming archways and window slits and even something akin to crenellations on the walls. It was a strange and eerie thing to find so deep beneath the last reaches of civilization, and the longer Celebrimbor looked at it, the more twisted and alive this eerie stone structure seemed to him. For some reason, he was glad when they left that particular cavern.

Once they came to a mining site in a cavern that was so huge it defied any attempt at guessing its true size. There was only a narrow pathway clinging to the leftmost wall, and to its right was a sheer drop into blackness. A few wooden bridges and a bit of scaffolding showed where the miners had been working at the mithril veins here, but it all appeared ridiculously small compared to this eerie hollow in the mountain. Celebrimbor leaned out, but there was no telling how deep the cavern went and even Alfin and Lassi did not know what lay at its bottom. With a slightly queasy feeling in his stomach Celebrimbor righted himself again, and they went on.

Soon they came into another cave, this one clearly hewn by the Khazad themselves.

It soared as high as one of the smaller halls of Khazad-Dûm above and at its end stood another great set of mithril doors. The thrumming was louder here and there was nothing vague or ethereal about it now. It was the drill doing its slow, steady, relentless work, and judging by the noise, the great machine had to be just behind the doors.

The doors themselves were about twelve feet high, and when they opened to admit the small group, Celebrimbor could see that the metal was surely at least four feet in width.

They stepped through – and the heat and noise hit Celebrimbor as if he had run into a wall. It was warm here, so warm that many of the miners here had foregone their vests in favour of going bare-chested.

The cavern they were working in was narrower and higher, but of a smaller diameter. The walls were black as obsidian, and shimmering damply as if the stone itself was sweating. The origin of the heat was no secret – it came from the centre of the cavern.

There stood the Great Drill of Khazad-Dûm, hissing, rumbling, and glowing white-hot like a dragon. It was a massive contraption of mithril, iron ore, and adamantium, that had been planned with the joined efforts of the master construction engineers of Khazad-Dûm based on plans drawn up by Narvi, Annatar, and Celebrimbor during Narvi's last visit to Ost-in-Edhil. Mithril had always been notoriously hard to mine due to its extreme hardness and the fact that speckles of it permeated the stone around every greater lode. Drill bits made of lesser materials wore down incredibly quickly, and only when the metal adamantium was discovered had a promising alternative to mithril drill bits been found.

In a joint effort, Elves and Dwarves and Men had drafted the construction plan for a new drill, unprecedented in size and strength, save maybe for the mystical drill of the Dwarven Kingdom of Báshing-zě in the Far East, far beyond where the maps of Middle-earth ended. The parts had been forged in the foundries of Khazad-Dûm and Ost-in-Edhil, and had to be brought down by the elevator in parts. Only down here the drill could finally be assembled for its specific task. Its body was a hollow cylinder about six feet in diameter and twenty feet in height, set above a vertical shaft and stabilized by iron scaffolding that encased the entire drill almost like a cage. Parts of the scaffolding were movable and allowed the drill to be lowered as it dug deeper. Only the upper part of the corpus of the drill and its engines were visible. The rest had been lowered into the great vertical shaft where the drill was turning and screeching against stone even now. Celebrimbor knew that a bit lower on the shaft, there was a hydraulic torque ring that in turn grasped the upper part of the actual drill bit.

The shaft was also where the heat was emanating from. The energy created by mithril mining surpassed anything generated during normal mining, even when those methods involved fire-setting and thermal shocks to blast loose chunks of iron ore or gold. An entirely new water cooling system had had to be invented and conducted to this depth, and warm water was poured on the drill bit at all times, only to burst into steam within moments of making contact with the drill bit. Cold water was out of the question, as the material strain for the white-hot drill bit would prove too much even for adamantium in the long run. Great clouds of white steam rose from the tunnel and for a moment, Celebrimbor had the bizarre thought that there might as well be a dragon resting down there, breathing steam and fire and heat from its nostrils.

“By Aulë, it's hotter here than it is in the forges!” Floki said.

Lassi threw him a brief smirk. “Mithril does not want to be mined and resists with all its strength. Overcoming it means dealing with the heat of a dragon's maw all day. Think of that when you complain about the heat in the forges next time.”

There was a walkway inside the scaffolding that led around the hole the drill had dug, and when Celebrimbor approached, he could see the drill turning about fifty feet below, making its slow but inexorable progress through the ancient stone.

Hot air wafted up and blew his hair from his face. His heart was beating quickly and the palms of his hands were damp, though why, he could not say.

Fundin joined him at the edge for a moment, then took a step backward. “So deep,” he murmured, and it was hardly audible over the roar of the engine.

“How deep are we?” Celebrimbor asked and turned to face him. Dwarves had an impeccable sense of scale and direction, even without external pointers.

“By my best estimate, we must be more than three miles below Khazad-Dûm,” Fundin said. He knelt down and touched the bedrock that was vibrating under the soles of their boots. “Alfin spoke true. The stone itself feels strange here.”

“Strange how?” asked Celebrimbor. He touched the ground as well, but whatever it spoke to Fundin, the stone was silent to him.

“I cannot describe it,” Fundin said. “But there is a saying of the Khazad that things – stone, air, and even one's soul – change in the deep.” The dwarf turned his head and Celebrimbor turned as well to follow his glance.

At the other end of the cavern, as far from the drill as possible, Annatar was walking down the perimeter of the cave, running his fingers over the stone just like Fundin had done, though what he was searching for was anyone's guess. His expression was hard and closed-off, and betrayed nothing of his thoughts, and his brow was furrowed in intense concentration. His gait was more of a prowl, and he stalked the room like a predator in search of prey – single-minded and unapproachable.

Changes in the deep.

“He is not usually like this,” Celebrimbor found himself saying. “We had an argument a few days ago and didn't reach an agreement. If he is ill-tempered now, it is because of our row and nothing else.”

Fundin didn't comment on this, even though he did not look convinced.

Celebrimbor gave him a wan smile, then they both righted themselves again and returned to the group, careful to keep out of the way of the drill operators.

All of a sudden, the rumble and screeching of the drill quietened down.

Lassi, who had assumed the lead of the next shift, walked over to them after having apparently gotten the newest reports from the miners. “The breakthrough is imminent now,” he said. “Take care not to get in anyone's way.” His eyes shone with excitement. “The measurements are telling us that this has to be one of the greatest hollows beneath the mountain that we have ever opened up and the echographs show that the density of the surrounding matter is enormous. Just imagine the amount of mithril that lies down there – it must be enough to last us a decade!”

“Slow the drill!” one of the Khazad shouted. “You – Alfin, call back your group!”

“Step away from the shaft!” Lassi called, while the bird in Alfin's cage began to flap its wings wildly. Celebrimbor and Fundin returned to the group, then turned around to watch. Everywhere else, dwarves who were not needed to operate the drill were retreating from the shaft, forming little groups side by side with the visitors, the door at their backs.

Steam rose hissing from the great engine like from the maw of a dragon. The rotation of the drill slowed, the grinding of metal on metal changing to a deeper and more drawn-out sound.

“Slower!” the foreman shouted, leaning slightly over the edge of the scaffolding down to where the drill was still turning. Another dwarf pulled down a lever, and behind a removable pane of diamond-glass a system of interlocking cogwheels inside the engine separated and came together again, and the drill changed to a lower gear.

“It's marvellous,” Celebrimbor said as he watched the dance of cogwork mechanics and the pumping of the pistons, which turned a crank shaft as thick as his arm in turn. “Isn't it, Annatar?”

He turned around in search of his friend, but was distracted when the sound of metal grinding against stone suddenly changed. Everyone else around him felt it, too. There was a new quality to the sound of the drill, as less of its noise was now contained in the small shaft. Instead of echoing back, it was lost somewhere in a greater space – which could only mean one thing.

“Slow down! Slow down! Stop!”

There was a crack and then utter silence.

Steam shot from the cooling outlet at the top of the drill and its rotation slowed, slowed – and then stopped. Behind the pane of diamond-glass the cog wheels and pistons stood still. The noise of the engine was gone.

There was a brief silence, then all at once, a great noise of shouting and cheering rose up from the workers and foremen, all of their toil and efforts forgotten as they left their positions, jumping down from their operating seats on the drill or storming forth from where they had been waiting at a safe distance.

“The breakthrough! The breakthrough! We made it!”

Cheers rang out everywhere, and Celebrimbor felt the sound buoying him up into a state of excitement and joy, even though he was only a chance witness of the event whereas the dwarves must have spent months working toward the breakthrough. Alfin's bird sang loudly and flapped its wings, while the drill operator jumped from his platform on top of the drill, shouting with mirth even though his forehead was shining with sweat and grey with grime. He was welcomed by his companions, tired but content and full of pride.

“What happens now?” Fundin asked Alfin, who was trying to calm down his bird. The little creature had apparently gotten over-excited with all the noise around it and was still singing shrilly.

Alfin looked up from this task at Fundin, then over to the drill. “Now we must wait. The drill and the shaft must cool, and then one of the foremen will climb down to the hole and see for himself the hollow that must lie down there.”

“It is wondrous to witness this,” Celebrimbor said. “I only wished I could still be here when you start the actual mining.”

Alfin laughed. “We won't be starting to mine it in the next few months. First the pulleys and the scaffolding have to be built, then the ventilation, and until we have explored and secured a hollow so great and deep, it will be winter again before we can start to mine mithril.”

“Then I know what I will be doing next Yule,” Celebrimbor said. “If you will have me, of course.”

“Nosy elf,” Alfin said. “But fine – I will talk to the miners and the king.”

Then something rumbled and the ground beneath Celebrimbor's feet lurched so hard that he nearly lost his footing.

“What was that?”

“An aftershock,” Lassi said, who had just returned from rounds of congratulations among his fellow miners. “Sometimes shelves of stone rest against each other, but when we work the stone long enough, the shelves shift against each other and the tension is released very suddenly.”

Celebrimbor looked at his own feet with a pounding heart. “Does this always happen?”

“Not always, but often enough that we are used to it.” Lassi smiled wryly at what was doubtlessly a shocked expression on Celebrimbor’s face. “Nevertheless it will be safer if we leave the cavern for now – the drill is safely anchored, but our feet less so, and tripping over your own toes for hours afterward is neither pleasant nor safe.” Lassi turned around and waved for the other workers to follow him. “Come now, brothers, come now! The work is done for today, and now is the time for celebration and merriment!”

“Ale and stew!” one of the Khazad shouted, and was cheered on by the other miners for the suggestion.

“That and more!” Lassi called back. “Come now to the common hall, there we shall feast and drink and share stories! The work is done, come!”

And thus the Khazad came together in a group, and there was much chatter and laughter in the air among the usually quiet dwarves. The joy of the successful breakthrough seemed to have loosened their tongues and lifted their tired spirits.

Alfin's bird was still singing shrilly in its cage, flapping excitedly and hopping from one thin bar of the cage to the other. Alfin marched off to the side to calm it down, while Lassi made a headcount of the miners to make sure nobody would inadvertently be shut in with the drill.

When the count was finished, including Celebrimbor and his friends (with someone asking in jest whether the elf and the Maia should count for two apiece, since they were near twice as tall as most Dwarves), they turned to go.

The great doors opened for them to admit them to the outer hall. The massive metal door-leaves moved slowly and ponderously, and Celebrimbor stopped to stare at the structure, awestruck by its size and complexity. How the Khazad had managed to build something so great and awesome in these great depths would forever remain a mystery to him.

Then Celebrimbor looked at Annatar, who was standing next to him. Together they brought up the rear of the group. The Maia still looked sullen and his face was taut, as if he was fighting off a bad headache.

“Is something the matter with you?” Celebrimbor asked.

Annatar gave him a side-glance. “It's – ”

And then the floor lurched again. There was a sound of breaking metal and iron, and the group whirled around to look almost as one.

Behind them the great drill shivered, then one of its supporting struts that was braced against the rim of the shaft gave out and fell over. It was so heavy that Celebrimbor could feel the impact even through the soles of his boots.

Lassi cursed and a few of the other workers had stopped as well, staring wide-eyed at the destroyed strut. It looked like it had been ripped apart by a giant, its edges frayed and rough.

“That one was seventy centimetres thick,” Floki said, and he looked as if he was not sure whether to be horrified or impressed.

“Well, one of your workers must have blundered the tempering, otherwise such a measly shock wouldn't have done anything to it,” one of the miners said, which earned him a dark glare of the Dwarven smith.

“Ah, curse it,” Lassi said. “Now of all times – Bilbur, Dorin, come with me, I have to inspect the damage. You others can leave – and Alfin, take that bird out of here, I don't know what has gotten into it today.”

But no one left and everyone watched as Lassi and the two miners approached the drill, carefully watching the ground for fissures or cracks caused by the second shock. They approached the drill, the light of their lamps wandering over the surface of the drill and the other struts, searching for additional damage. Slowly and thoroughly they rounded the entire drill.

Celebrimbor was watching along with everyone else when suddenly a small sound to his left drew his attention. He turned and a shock jolted through him from head to toe when he saw that Annatar was hunched over, his hands at his temples.

Celebrimbor reached out. “Annatar, what is the matter with you?”

Annatar ground out something nearly unintelligible. “ –ache.”

“You? A headache?”

“No. It's aw – ”

Annatar did not get any further. There was a hissing sound, like the sound of water rushing through a narrow passage and turning to steam, and then all of a sudden a geyser of darkness and flame shot from the shaft and, within fractions of a second, the entire drill – and Lassi, Bilbur, and Dorin along with it – were gone.

Darkness billowed from the hole, the light of the lampstones in the wall dimmed and doused the cavern in twilight. Colours were sucked from the world and all of a sudden the air itself was almost too hot to breathe.

The Dwarves and Celebrimbor stood in shock, staring uncomprehending at where the drill had stood moments ago. Something inside Celebrimbor was telling him that he had to move, to do something and help Lassi and the others – but he felt slack and sluggish, and his feet would not obey him. He distantly realized that Alfin's bird had stopped singing. There was a puddle of molten metal pooling around the shaft, and it slowly dawned on him that this puddle had been the drill mere seconds ago.

Next to him, Annatar pulled himself up to his full height, his movements slow and deliberate, as if every move pained him.

Then came the next shock. The cavern shook. Small pieces of stone dropped from the ceiling. Another shock. And then something far down in the shaft gave way before a superior force. There was a crack like the world itself being broken and then everything was quaking, and the floor would not stop moving, and one dwarf was hit in the head by a boulder and fell.

Annatar stepped forward then, and that was finally enough to snap Celebrimbor out of his trance.

“What are you doing?” Celebrimbor asked. The cavern around them was shaking and more and more boulders started to come loose from the ceiling.

“You have to run,” Annatar told him. His voice was strained.

“What? Annatar, what is going on?”

“Nothing any of you can do anything about,” Annatar said. “Run, take as many of the others as you can, and don't stop.”

“Annatar!” Celebrimbor cried over the rumbling of the crumbling cavern. “Why? What is going on?” He tried to reach for his friend, but then Annatar whirled around and his robes slipped through Celebrimbor's fingers before they could close around the sleeve, and Celebrimbor found himself staring at a being he no longer knew.

Annatar's eyes were those of a stranger, wide and wild and ablaze, and he moved like a wolf and a hawk and a living flame all at once.

“Now is not the time! Run!”

He did not know whether Annatar was shouting at him with his voice or in his head or both. His vision was swimming, and his head rang.

There was another shock. The ground below their feet lifted and then dropped nearly two feet, and this time, Celebrimbor and ten or so of the dwarves could no longer keep their balance. Celebrimbor fell hard to the ground and hit his elbow, which took the brunt of the impact. He rolled onto all fours, trying to regain his footing…

… and then it appeared.

At first Celebrimbor thought that another bout of flame had risen from the shaft, but then he saw that the darkness and flame had something corporeal to it that was more than mere fire and billowing smoke. Darkness aflame rose from the shaft, and smoke coalesced around its centre, spreading like terrible wings.

The thing of fire and smoke moved, and then the heat hit them, together with a wave of pure, unadulterated terror. In the next moment they were screaming. Celebrimbor felt memories wash over him that he had hoped he would never have to live through again: his grandfather, surrounded by three towering shapes of shadow and flame, looking up as all of them raised their swords and struck downwards at the same time – a desolate wasteland under a red sky, with thousands of corpses lying sprawled on the sand like puppets with their strings cut, while creatures of fire and darkness were prowling the battlefield, looking for survivors, and all you could do was duck and run, duck and run – Celebrimbor, running through a dark and twisted wood alongside his father and his uncle, as far and fast as their feet would carry them, while something crashed through the underbrush behind them. A whip of flame cracked only inches from his face, and only moments later the whip caught Celebrimbor around his ankle and he fell. But even as he fell, he saw his father whirl around, sword aloft and hellfire reflected in his eyes, crying, “Not my son, you –

Celebrimbor wanted to run, but he couldn’t move his legs. Frozen with fear and terror, he and the Dwarves were only able to stand and watch the ancient horror that unfolded before them.

The Balrog shouldered its way free of the shaft, and in its claws it held a whip of flame, and when it opened its maw, white fire shone in its gullet.

Annatar stepped forward, and suddenly Celebrimbor was able to move again. He did not know where he found the strength and the courage to reach for his friend – this strange being who had begun to shimmer like pale fire in the twilight of the hall – and grab his wrist.

“Annatar, what are you doing?”

“Fool!” Annatar cried. “Run! This is a foe beyond any of you! I must hold it! Run!”

“I will not let you face it alone!” Celebrimbor shouted, tightening his grip. “I will fight with you!”

Annatar looked at him, and for a fleeting moment there appeared to be something shining and soft in his glance, but then his eyes hardened. “No, you won't.”

The wrist under Celebrimbor's hand turned into a limb of corded muscle, hard and unyielding as steel. Annatar freed himself from Celebrimbor’s grip as easily as he would tear through a spiderweb.

Behind Annatar, the Balrog roared and reared up to its full height. It cracked its whip over all their heads and bridged half the distance to the group of miners with one single step.

Annatar's head jerked around, then immediately back to Celebrimbor. Their eyes met, just briefly, and then—

The Maia whirled on the spot so fast that the movement made his robes fly around him, and then his arms came forward, throwing forward the compressed air in the chamber with them – and a shockwave slammed into Celebrimbor's chest hard enough that his breath was punched from his lungs. His feet lost touch with the ground and he was propelled backwards through the air, flying for an impossible time, until the ground slammed into him and he rolled backwards over his shoulder with the sheer force that had catapulted him. He hit his head on the stony ground, the helmet banging against the back of his skull, rolled once more, and then came to lie on his back.

His head was swimming and he saw sparks dancing in his vision, but he righted himself immediately, just like the Dwarves around him who had also been catapulted backwards and out of the cavern of the drill.

Beyond the doors, Annatar stood alone, small and bright before the consuming dark fire of the Balrog. The demon screamed when it saw that its prey was beyond its reach now, and moved forward to try and pursue them. But Annatar raised his hands, and then the giant doors were closing, faster than their mechanisms would have permitted, as they were pulled shut by nothing else than the inexorable will of a being older than the world itself.

Celebrimbor found his footing, and almost lost it again when a wave of nausea hit him. “No!” he screamed. “No! No! Annatar! Brother!” He fell to his knees, and as he was struggling to get up again he saw that the doors were closing, faster and faster and faster.

He saw them like that in a moment that stretched into eternity, framed in that shrinking gap between the leaves of the doors – Annatar bright and small and straight-backed, and the demon before him – a giant of roiling smoke and flame, a shadow of the evil of Morgoth himself that had come back from the Old World to haunt and destroy and kill.

Stumbling back to his feet, Celebrimbor reached the doors just as they slammed shut, trapping his friend in with the Balrog, this monster from his nightmares of the First Age.

Celebrimbor nearly sprained his wrists as he crashed into the metal, then hammered his fists against the door. “Annatar! Open up! Annatar, Annatar! Brother!” He felt the skin chafing off his knuckles with every hit, but desperation clouded the pain to something not more significant than a slight sting. “No! No! No!” He slammed his hand once again against the metal, but then a flash of white-hot agony lanced up his arm and Celebrimbor stumbled backwards, clutching his arm to his side with a grimace of pain.

“Kurfi! Kurfi! Stop!” Someone pulled him backwards and away from the door. Celebrimbor would have none of it and threw his weight forward again.

“I must help him! We cannot leave him alone in there!”

“You cannot help him!” someone cried, and Celebrimbor would have liked nothing more than to shove them away, for who were they to keep him from his friend, his brother –

“Let me go!”

Other arms grabbed his shoulders and waist and wrists, and then it was too much and he could fight no longer.

“Get away from the door!” someone else shouted, a broken, shrill voice that echoed madly from the walls of the cave. “Get away, can't you see what is happening?”

And indeed the door was changing – unnoticeably at first glance, and Celebrimbor thought it was because his vision was blurring from the hits to the head he had suffered, but then he realized that the surface of the door was indeed no longer smooth and the hinges and edges no longer clearly defined. The door was dissolving like a painting left out in the rain.

Celebrimbor stared at it, uncomprehending, but he offered no resistance as he was pulled away from the door and the mounting heat. The door started to glow, first orange, then yellow, and finally white – and there were no more contours, no more distinguishable elements like screws and hinges and engravings. Its surface was moving and rippling like water. The door was melting.

“We must go!” someone shouted, and Celebrimbor knew the voice, but neither name nor face came to him – he could only stare at the door and the fire that was seeping through the cracks, at the stone around the door, which was glazing over as if it was turning to glass from the sheer heat inside the drill cave.

“Fly! Fly! The door will not hold!”

Screams were everywhere - screams of pain, of agony, of fear. And there was terror – the nameless terror that manifested only when all hope was lost. He was young again, young and wounded, and he was on the battlefields of the First Age, and his brethren were dying around him, and Arda itself was drinking their blood. The living abandoned their wounded comrades to flee before the greater powers, leaving them to die. And yet, even though the dying stayed behind and vanished from view, their screams still echoed in the heads of the fleeing long after they had fallen out of earshot, the cries of agony coalescing into a single scream, a cacophony of terror that rose above them all –

The scream persisted, turned longer, higher, then fell, then rose again – until it lost any and all mortal quality and turned into the howling of a siren. Celebrimbor would not have managed to make his way back on his own, but there were others shoving him forward and pulling him along, and somehow his legs were still capable of walking, so he stumbled along as fast as he was able. Red lampstones flared up along the ground and showed them the way, through narrow and twisting passages, along a great mining site where an abyss spanned by scaffolding yawned to their left, its bottom lost in blackness, then into a cave, and into another, and into another –

Before long, all the places he passed through began to blur together. He saw throngs and throngs of Dwarves emerging from other tunnels that fed into the main passage where Fundin was hurrying them along. Soon the tunnels were cramped and everywhere Dwarves were barking orders and pressing forward into the narrow dark, while the air around them became hot and stuffy and the passage grew so cramped that all Celebrimbor felt were shoulders and elbows to his left and his right. Door after door slammed shut behind them with the finality of a coffin lid being nailed into place.

They walked and ran and stumbled on, though where they were going Celebrimbor could not have said – not until someone shoved him into a cage, and there was a lurch beneath his feet. Celebrimbor grabbed the bars of the elevator cage, close to retching. Bodies were pressing close and the chain of the elevator was groaning with the weight of the excess load. His vision swam and dim lights passed them as they ascended, rising and falling at the same time.

His vision blacked out. When he opened his eyes again the lights were still there, soft and unreal like everything else around him. The ground beneath his feet was swaying and his head was swimming. He leaned his aching head against the bars of the elevator cage, the cool metal pressing into the skin of his forehead. His fingers were bent like claws around the bars. They cramped from the strain, but he didn't let go. If he let go, he would fall and he would fall forever.

He closed his eyes. He opened them again.

Someone pulled him from the cage.

There was a great rumbling of machinery, a hissing of chains, and a deep grinding of something heavy being slid over stone.

“Kurfinni, look at me,” someone said.

Celebrimbor looked up and Fundin's face swam into view.

“Kurfinni, are you all right?”

“We need to go back,” Celebrimbor croaked.

Fundin shook his head. “We can't.”

Celebrimbor blinked. “But – Annatar, Lassi, Dorin – ”

“They were lost when the Balrog appeared.”

“But – the others –”

Fundin's eyes were empty, his voice hollow. “We tried, Kurfi. We tried to get everyone out. But not everyone made it in time.”

“Then we need to go back.”

“It is too late. The mines have been locked down, the elevators sealed. There is no way back. Whoever is still down there is lost.”

“No way back,” Celebrimbor repeated tonelessly, and collapsed backwards against a rough stone wall. “There must be something we can do,” he said, desperation making his voice crack on the last syllable. He rubbed the heels of his hands over his face. He felt numb and detached from reality, yet he forced himself to feel the pain, the burning of skin rubbing over skin, of grounding pressure. When he opened his eyes, Fundin was no longer standing next to him.

The Dwarves were sitting or standing together in huddled groups, avoiding each other's glances and staring ahead with empty eyes.

What did just happen? Celebrimbor wondered.

He spotted Floki, who was cradling his left arm against his chest and staring at the sealed shafts where the elevators had hung with an empty expression. Fundin was making the rounds and doing a headcount. Then he did it again. And again. The steward talked to one of the other foremen, and they gestured and shouted, and almost came to blows, until a third dwarf interfered and the fight went out of both of them.

And slowly, ever so slowly, Celebrimbor saw the realization of what had happened sink into the minds of the Dwarves. One after another they sat down and looked at injuries that they were just now noticing for the first time. Others stopped calling out names of brothers and sisters, cousins or fathers or friends who would not answer, and sank down to the cool stone floor, boneless and hollowed out. Foremen compared tallies, counted their comrades, again and again and again and kept coming up short. Others murmured amongst themselves, still fighting off the sickening truth of what had happened, comparing experiences, comparing rumours, comparing their memories against a reality they dared not yet face.

Celebrimbor could feel his own realization pushing against the wall in his mind – a nameless terror, but even so, only a herald of the far greater horror that had yet to sink in. Celebrimbor did not allow himself to face it. He would not think about Lassi. He would not think about fire. He would not think about Annatar, most of all.

Not yet. Later. For now, he had to keep on functioning. For now, he had to help where he could.

Celebrimbor didn't remember when he pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against and walked over to where Floki was kneeling over a crumpled shape on the ground. As he got closer, he saw that Floki was leaning over a dwarf and holding his hand. The dwarf on the ground was bleeding and his leg was clearly broken. A puddle of blood was spreading on his shin: too dark, too fast, too much. Celebrimbor stopped in his tracks.

“Safe passage, cousin,” Floki said. “May the Maker guide your path.”

Alfin did not respond. He breathed and blinked, and then stilled.

Floki lowered his forehead until it was resting on their clasped hands, and then he began to weep.

Celebrimbor stood behind him like a looming shade, unable to move forward, unable to move away. He stared at the cousins, at their clasped hands, and at least his gaze fell on the cage that Alfin must have carried with him even in their desperate flight and only dropped when his strength gave out.

Inside the cage, stretched out like a little yellow flower in the gloom, lay the bird with its wings spread; small and broken and dead.

*

 

Someone must have run to Khazad-Dûm for aid, because King Durin's men finally came in battalions and centuries, armoured and armed and ready to defend their brothers and sisters, their realm and their king. But when they saw the group of wounded and dying brethren before them the warriors, they stopped dead in their tracks.

“What happened?” they cried. “What evil befell you down in the Abyss?”

“A Balrog!” someone answered. “A demon of Morgoth, who came from the Old World and was loosed when we broke through. It came with fire and shadow, and it slaughtered our brethren before we could aid them. The Maia locked it into the drill cavern, but many others were lost down in the Abyss during our flight, because they got turned around or did not flee fast enough. Woe is them! Woe is us!”

At those words King Durin's soldiers threw away their weapons and dropped their shields, and beside their wounded brothers they fell to their knees and began to weep.

They stayed there for a while, mourning the lost and the dead. When they finally moved to bring the wounded to the hospitals, the dead to the mortuary, and the living back into the city, their eyes had run dry of tears and their souls gone numb with a grief that was too much to bear and feel.

The next few hours passed as if in a dream. Celebrimbor did not remember much of what followed their ascent, only that they were pushed from place to place by people whose faces he could not remember and barraged with questions that he could not recall even five seconds after being asked. Apparently, he must have given some answers that had been satisfactory, because all of a sudden, Celebrimbor found himself all but shoved out of a council chamber to stand alone in a hallway.

He blinked at the door and then turned around, trying to remember the shortest way to reach his sleeping chambers. This proved to be more difficult than expected, because he had apparently never been to this particular part of Khazad-Dûm before and no one had bothered to give him directions on how to return to the palace. After wandering aimlessly for a time, he finally found his way back to one of the main thoroughfares and from there to the city proper. All houses of Hadhodrond were brightly lit, windows and doors stood open, and many Dwarves ran to and fro, asking questions and shouting, while others were weeping. Thankfully, none of them spared Celebrimbor a glance or asked him what had happened, because he was no longer sure he could have given them an answer even if he tried. He felt cold and numb, as if walking through very deep and dark water, and just as if he were under water, everything around him seemed to pass very slowly.

His legs finally found their way back to his chamber when his frozen brain could not. His hands remembered the combination to unlock the door without the help of conscious thought, and Celebrimbor stepped inside. For a moment he stood in the middle of his room, looking around himself, trying to remember if there was something he was looking for – but that was ground that he could not tread, that he would not tread, because if he did, there was a very real chance that he would just break down here and now and never get back up again.

Celebrimbor stood in the middle of his room, ramrod-straight and breathing shallowly.

Think, he told himself. Not of what has happened, but of what needs to happen now.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He allowed his brain to grind into motion again, but forcefully kept it from touching on what had happened in the abyss.

Think not of the past that cannot be changed, think of the consequences that you will have to deal with.

His hands were trembling. With a slight effort of will, Celebrimbor steadied them.

Think. Help was needed. Assistance for the wounded had to be given. Guarding the exits from the Deep Paths was necessary. He could do none of this. He was neither a healer nor a warrior of the Deep, unlike many Dwarves here. But there was something he could do.

Slowly, Celebrimbor turned around and left his room. He walked down the corridor, tracing a path that he had walked countless times, hundreds of years before. The further he went, the surer and the faster his steps became.

When he reached the smithies of Khazad-Dûm, he found the rooms dark and abandoned. All hands that could help were currently needed elsewhere.

That suited him fine. Slowly, methodically, Celebrimbor lit the lampstones, then went to prepare his workspace. He didn't even need to think about it – once again his arms did not need his memory or his brain to interfere. They went through motions that he had completed thousands of times before, slowly, fluidly, absolutely sure. Binding the heavy leather apron about his neck and waist. Setting out his work table, choosing the tools that he would need.

After what seemed to be mere moments, he found himself standing in front of a sketchtable, fires burning around him, the tables set, his tools prepared.

Think, he had told himself. That he had done, and he knew what he had to do. All that was left now was to act.

Celebrimbor got to work.

 

---

1 “Kingdom of the Abyss”. Note the curious similarity to the Hebrew term “abaddon/avaddon” and the Ancient Greek "ábatos".