{I have returned. And I brings gifts of actual plot and a more solid direction on where I'm going. May the Valar reward your patience tenfold.}

Chapter 11

The infirmary did not see action in Aglarond. Those who tended the sick or injured often found themselves plenty of excuses to seek out a drink or a nap, for nothing of great import ever happened. A heady cough or a broken bone would pass through from time to time…on a busy day they would have both. So when a roaring flood and a Goblin raid happened in the same day, the poor creatures in charge hardly knew what to do with the sudden surplus of work laid out for them. Dwarves needed bones set, bandaging, stitching, blankets, draughts for their pains, appendages put back in place—it was a raging nightmare. The head curer of all ailments, Rubin, had spent his early days in the wars of legend. Whenever a call for aid came down from any Dwarven front, Rubin had answered. Long before his beard had gone white and sight had abandoned him, he was regarded as a terrible and wonderful figure upon the field of battle. He could kill as well as he could heal. Often enough, the combination of his two talents unsettled those who witnessed them, but no one spoke ill of either gift, for none could crack a skull and put it back together again like Rubin.

He stood in the center of the bustling infirmary, leaning on his walking stick as the old are want to do. The staff had once been the handle of his great war mace, but the killing end had been removed and placed in his quarters as a reminder of days long over and done. Still, he kept the handle. The elderly Dwarf saw nothing, but his hearing remained. Bustling bodies, demands, examinations…there was pain in the air and anger too. The frustration was palpable.

"Master Rubin."

The aged dwarf inclined his ear, his heavily beaded beard jingling slightly as he did so.

"Lord Gimli," came the reply. Age had not robbed Rubin's voice of strength. "What service can I offer you?"

"Kori's taken a blow. It doesn't look like much, but it may be deep."

"The overseer. Full of manners, that one."

"I need him on his feet," Gimli said. "Will you take a look at him?"

"Always going on with the pleasantries and never saying much of anything," Rubin continued as if Gimli hadn't spoken at all.

"I'd be grateful if you would—"

"Of course," Rubin said, knowing full well that Gimli sought him out in great need. "Anything for the Lord of the Caves."

The old Dwarf followed along behind Gimli without lead or a guiding hand. His other senses outdid the shadow his eyes had been claimed by. They stopped at a bed where the overseer had been taken. Kori was quiet. Never a good first sign, Rubin thought to himself.

"Master Kori," said Rubin. "Describe to me your hurt."

"His side's seen better days," Orni explained. He had received a well-founded reputation for blatancy amongst his kin. "Doesn't look good to me."

"I would hear from Master Kori, if it pleases you," Rubin reiterated. Orni shut his gob.

Kori, whose breathing came tightly from his belly—Another bad sign, thought Rubin—seemed to pull himself together to answer.

"I didn't feel it," he said brusquely. "It sort've came upon at once after I'd settled a moment. But it makes my middle ache now, to be sure."

Rubin nodded, cloudy eyes unblinking. He reached out and found the wound and although he did not stop when Kori cried out, his invading fingers were gentle in their intent.

"You will live, Master Kori," Rubin announced.

"Well, that's a relief," Orni exclaimed, letting loose a heavy sigh. "What did I tell you, Kori? 'You'll be good as new before you know it.' What did I say?"

"A word if you will, Lord Gimli," Rubin said. He walked away from the wounded overseer and his loud-mouthed bedside companion. Gimli followed.

"That's not everything, is it?" the ruddy Lord asked.

"Not everything," Rubin confirmed. "He'll take fever soon. They all do. These Goblin skirmishers fight with rusted weapons that've seen a lifetime of blood and unimaginable filth. The wound won't kill him, but the fever will waste a good deal of his strength. It'll be weeks before you have him again."

Gimli let out something between a grumble and a sigh. Rubin continued.

"I will see to his recovery myself," he said. The offer, though a great honor, came at a price. Those who underwent Rubin's healing sessions came out the other side in half the time it took any other with the same injury. But many admitted later that they would've preferred to wait it out and fester a while to the methods of the old master. He did not believe in sparing a patient pain. Still, he was the best at what he did. No on could argue that.

"I'd appreciate it," Gimli said, bowing. "I want him by the end of the week if you can."

"Give me four days," said Rubin. "That's all I'll need."

{-}

The tunnel wound upwards away from the breach, snaking off to the left and deeper into the mountain. The stone at the entrance had blackened from the impact of the explosion, but the further Legolas trekked, the more natural the rock became. Crude instruments and thoughtless hands had seen to its creation, for the path beneath his feet was gruesomely uneven. The walls around him protruded at rough, odd intervals. Often, he found himself crouched where the ceiling had not been chiseled out. They worked in haste, Legolas noted. And heedlessness.

Cold winds sometimes toyed with the torch's feeble flame, blowing in from unseen crevices. The smell of burning soon turned to mildew and rot. Presently, the tunnel branched off into two greater tunnels: one inclining sharply downward, the other to the right and up. Legolas chose upwards. To his knowledge, Goblins did not often venture down to the deepest depths of the rocky homes they claimed. No…there were darker, older things in the deep places of the world that even their twisted hearts could not stomach.

His choice was soon rewarded. Presently, the black of the road ahead lightened and a red glow took its place, growing stronger with each step forward. The light became so intensely visible that the Elf abandoned the torch altogether. His knives slid free of their scabbards, silent. Ready. Voices—some shrill, some hoarse—barked back and forth up ahead. Legolas did not slow his pace but remained silent, in his fashion. Slipping forward, the tunnel's end loomed before him. The Elf pressed into the shadows and kept out of sight, watching the scene unfolding in the cave beyond. Goblins scrambled this way and that; some were armed and armored while others seemed to be aimlessly following the orders of those around them. These underlings were unclothed, wide eyed, and gape mouthed. While other Goblins snarled insults or commands at them, the odd underlings merely snapped and hissed in return, obedient, their eyes dull and void of reason. They are going mad, Legolas thought to himself. With no master and their numbers dwindling, they can do nothing as the darkness consumes their minds.

"Quick as death, quick as death," muttered a Goblin as he hauled buckets of black powder, one in each hand. Each seemed to have a task and went about doing it with more precision and focus than Legolas had ever seen in a Goblin. All came to light moments later, however. An Uruk stalked into view, a barbed whip wound tightly in his grip. He was joined by several others, their presences alone sparking fear and action in the jittery Goblin horde. A great red fire burned in the center of the cave, giving an unholy crimson cast to everything around it.

"They set it off too soon," growled one through mangled teeth. "Got excited and bungled the whole thing. I said lay the powder, nice and thick, and come back when you're done. Serves 'em right, drowning like maggots in stew."

"The Dwarves've always known there's Goblins in the mountain. Won't be nothing new to them," said a second, taller than the rest but clearly not as bright.

"Someone beat that one," snapped the toothy one, pointing at his tall companion. There were no takers to his challenge. "Use whatever brain you've got in that dull head of yours, Gond. Now they're gonna want to know how they got their hands on exploding powder, and anyone worth anything knows that these lot are too stupid to come up with something like that on their own. They'll come sniffing. And we ain't ready yet."

Uruk-hai beneath the mountain? Legolas thought. They must have fled Saruman's wars in cowardice and sought to master something of their own. The creatures, who could walk in sunlight unlike their Goblin counterparts, must have found it confining to be holed up beneath the earth. But the world was no longer at the beck and call of the Shadow. Their time had passed.

"There's plenty where that come from, the black powder and all," Gond replied. "Blow 'em to bits should they show their stinkin' faces. It's gonna happen anyhow, when we clear them caverns out, clean and sudden like."

"And bring the cave down on our heads while we're at it? Think, you miserable—!"

"I smell flesh."

The whip-master silenced the lot of them, Goblins included. The room froze instantly, all noses snuffling the air. Legolas pressed his back tighter against the jagged rock, keeping his breathing still.

"It's not man flesh," said Gond. "I like man flesh."

"Not Dwarf either," replied the toothy one.

"Elf," said the whip-master. "There's an Elf nearby."

Legolas ducked his head and disappeared down the tunnel. He could hear the gathering jump into action as he slipped away.

"An Elf?" yelped the toothy one. "What's an Elf doing under a mountain?"

"Don't make no sense," mused Gond.

"Doesn't matter," the whip-master replied. "Find him, boys. Find him quick and break his bones or I'll break yours! They may sting going down, but it's a dinner worth hurting for. MOVE, SWINE!" The whip cracked and Goblins screamed. Their footsteps skittered close behind Legolas and he quickened his pace. The torch he'd left behind still burned, but he did not take it, opting instead to feel his way through the darkness. Elves were not completely blind in most unseeing places, but even so it was difficult. Fire winding its way down dark corridors, however, would act as a beacon to his pursuers, not an aid. Returning one of his knives to its scabbard, Legolas ran his fingers along the wall as he moved, keeping track of his steps and remembering the distances he'd traversed before. When the path broke off into the two tunnels, he avoided the steeply declining one and headed off down the other. Goblin voices bounced off the stone walls behind, but the closer the Elf got to the breach, the quieter his hunters became until it was clear that they would go no further and had turned back. Up ahead, the breach yawned, somewhat smaller than it had been when he'd climbed through. One of the workers caught sight of movement in the dark and gave a shout.

"It's the Elf," the salt-and-pepper fellow said. "Let him through."

The Dwarves moved away from the entrance and Legolas passed back into the caverns of Aglarond. Back went his second knife into it's place, quick as anything.

"There are Uruk-hai in this mountain," he announced. The Dwarves instantly went to talking, some guffawing, others concerned. "They mean to organize the Goblins against you."

"Uruk-hai haven't been spotted in these parts since the Wizard's army collapsed," said one.

"Nonetheless, they are here. And they bring a dark powder with them that can undo stone. I have seen it before, at the Battle of Helm's Deep. They mean to remove your hold here."

"It's a fool's errand," grumbled the salt-and-peppered one. "Uruk or no Uruk."

"That may be," Legolas said, "but sealing this breach may bring more harm than good."

With that, the Elf moved past the workers and headed towards Aglarond's halls once more. He had to find Gimli. If the Dwarves closed up the passage, the Goblins would surely try to open it again…perhaps with more veracity than the first time. The powder could take out mighty walls of stone with only a small flame. In the hands of the enemy, it posed a constant threat. And there were the tunnels to consider. Goblins had lived in the tendrils of the mountain for lifetime upon lifetime. The breach he had stumbled into would not be the only one, the Elf was certain.

"Good Dwarf," Legolas hailed a fellow passing by. "Where are the halls of healing?"

"The infirmary's that way," replied the Dwarf, a little uncertain. "Off to your right and through the second arch."

Nodding his thanks, Legolas followed the directions given him down to the infirmary. The many ailing Dwarves stirred him, but he did not have time to dwell on pity. His eyes swept the room in its entirety, but his red-bearded friend was nowhere to be found. Kori, however, had been given a bed and looked thoroughly flushed. Fever, Legolas noted. So, the wound was genuine. Passing over the overseer, the Elf spotted a white-headed dwarf who had the bearing of one who gave orders and went to him.

"My good Dwarf," Legolas began, then caught sight of the cloudy eyes nestled beneath two bushy, snow-white brows. Blind. "I look for Gimli."

"You must be the Elf I've heard so much talk about," came the reply. For one so advanced in years, the Elf could see that the Dwarf's demeanor still held considerable strength.

"Legolas," the Elf greeted. "You are the master of this place?"

"Why do you say that?"

"You stand as one who listens and waits. Those who have seen battle and have become wise often do so. Such wisdom fashions the greatest healers, for they know pain like an old friend."

The Dwarf smiled.

"Pretty words on a pretty tongue," he said. "Gimli is not here."

"Where might I find him?"

"His chambers," replied Rubin. "If I am not mistaken."

"Many thanks," Legolas said, nodding his gratefulness.

"I am called Rubin," said the old Dwarf.

"Well met, Master Rubin."

With the Elvish gesture of farewell, Legolas bid the Dwarf goodbye and returned to his business.

{-}

"Agh, Lad…" Gimli squeezed the bridge of his nose with such force that his brows buried his eyes for a moment. The Dwarf Lord let out a strained sigh before looking to the Elf once more. "You're sure you saw it? Uruk-hai?"

"As clearly as I see you now," Legolas replied.

A steady flame burned in the hearth, casting the room in warm auburn and gold. Gimli's gaze met the flickering firelight's for a fleeting moment as he puzzled through his friend's report.

"They mean to descend upon Aglarond with what remains of the Goblins in these mountains;…" Legolas stated. "…to clear away your work here and remove the Dwarves by the edge of the sword. And they come bringing fire."

"Ha. We are more than familiar enough with fire," Gimli retorted. "The question is, do we meet them on their own turf or wait for them to come to ours?"

"They caught my scent in the tunnels," Legolas added. "Whether they suspect I am in league with you or no, their presence has been made known to an enemy and they have not found me. They will take action soon."

Gimli puzzled. "That powder will complicate things. If they get in close enough, they'll bring the ceiling down on our heads."

"Fighting them in the tunnels presents challenges of its own. The fell creatures would know their passages and pitfalls blind. The Goblins are bound to lead your forces away from one another to be lost in the dark belly of the mountain before your people even realized their mistake. They would be overrun like the unsuspecting worm who ventures too deep into the anthill."

"So we stand here and fight," Gimli decided, the promise of recompense ringing in his words. "Let them try to take us. We'll show them what our steel feel like buried handle-deep in their blasted necks. Maybe even give them a taste of our own blasting powder. See if that suits them!"

"There may be another way," Legolas said.

A little of the wind went out of Gimli's sails, but he did not dismiss the suggestion. "And what's that?"

"I saw something else. The Goblins…they are not all what they once were. It seemed to my eyes that some have become lost. There is an emptiness, a vacancy within many of them. They are more akin to fearful dullards than to monsters. Without a true master, the Goblin threat may not be as great."

"Meaning what?" Gimli pressed.

"Sauron is no more. The growing darkness has receded. The Goblins have aligned themselves with the first new power presented them—a small band of Uruk-hai that have less of a place in this new world than the Goblins do. The lesser creatures crave direction from a powerful hand…and their greater kinsman are willing to give them this. If you sent a small party to remove the Uruk threat by stealth without arousing the suspicions of the larger host, fear will drive the leaderless Goblins deeper and deeper into their holes seeking refuge. And time may undo them."

"That's a pretty great risk," Gimli said finally. "Suppose the Goblins aren't as weak as you thought. It could bring the lot of them down on us at once."

"Amass a force great enough to hold back the tide should it be unleashed," Legolas returned. He'd been standing by the door during the bulk of their conversation, but now he stepped nearer the fire and his friend, the plan bringing new purpose with it. "But if it should stay their hand, no unnecessary blood would be spilt."

"And I suppose you'll lead that small party you mentioned."

"This is your home, Gimli. Your halls. Your kin. I will do whatever seems best to you."

Gimli stared up at Legolas, stone faced. Thinking. A moment passed before an ornery, knowing smile appeared beneath his great red beard.

"Alright. You'll do it. Goodness knows you're light on your feet. Take whoever you think you'll need."

"Derin," Legolas said. "He is young, but sound of mind. And his youth will be an advantage if we mean to do this in secret. He has not yet grown to be the raging Mumakil your people seem to become in matters of stealth."

"Your kind have your gifts," Gimli grinned, "And my kind have their own." Legolas feigned impatience but the amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

"I leave as soon as he is ready," the Elf declared.

"I'll have somebody find him," Gimli replied, moving past his friend and out the door. "Stay put."

As the solid door shut behind his stout companion, Legolas trained his blue gaze on the fire. The roaring hearth welcomed any who came near it with the promise of warmth and blazing light. He went to it, standing over the heat as it billowed towards him, casting a long shadow behind the Elf. Silent thoughtfulness claimed him for a time; a quiet moment of peace amidst the sense of impending action. Above all, he did not realize that the sea whispered nothing to him as the fire turned in and in on itself. Legolas watched. He did not realize it. And without knowing, his heart was for the moment, still.