The alarm bells sounded loudly
through the
halls of Edhellion, announcing doom. Students and visiting scholars
streamed
out of the various lecture rooms and libraries, more surprised and
confused
then alarmed and panicked. Amongst them was Gwaihad of Lorien, a young
Elf of
mixed Sindar and Noldo descent.
“Has anyone any idea what is
going on?” he
asked his friend, Togrod, who was seeking mastery in deciphering
mysterious
runes of friend and foe alike. Togrod shook his head. “Not yet, my
friend, but I
am sure we will learn soon enough.”
Sure enough one of the masters
turned up
and spoke in a loud and clear voice: “Everybody listen! We must
evacuate the
building immediately as enemy forces approach from the north. Our
scouts have
reported massive dwarf movement up the hill. Stay calm and follow your
lecturer
who knows where to go! No running about or unnecessary heroics,
understood?”
But before any of his listeners
could nod
agreement or understanding, a group of heavily armoured Dwarves burst
into the
halls and started swinging axes with loud roaring voices hitting the
speaker
square in the chest and turned onto the students. There was no room for
organisation or calm now – those who were not slaughtered straight away
started running or
defending themselves with bare hands and the powers at their disposal.
Some
succeeded better than others but soon the number of fighters diminished
and
rumbles could be heard as a lone figure radiating with light and power
dug
through the enemies from behind. His dark hair and grey eyes radiated
anger,
sorrow and power but at the same time an almost unworldly calm – his
movements
elegant and almost acrobatic. As a weapon he wielded nothing but a
carved and
runed staff which he used with unsurpassed skill. Those dwarves who
tried to
stop him soon were to learn their mistake and the rest went running.
“Follow me!”, he shouted. The
sadly
diminished group made haste to do so and followed Elrond, for it was he
who cleared
a path where they went. After what seemed an eternity, they reached a
door.
Elrond touched it with the gem on his staff. The lore master opened the
door
and waved them through. A steep staircase led down onto a mountain
slope and a
barely visible path. “Go!” he orderered. "I will cover the door.”
“But, master,“, Gwaihad said to
him. “What
about the others? The books and knowledge inside? We cannot abandon
these
treasures to the enemy, whatever they want.”
“They want but one treasure,
young one”
Elrond answered, “and to that end they will use every means. The
mountain
dwarves have allied with the mountain trolls to gain hold of an unholy
artefact
stored here for safekeeping; they must not get it.” He looked grim.
“But their
numbers are too great, and you have no equipment but your bravery and
fledgling
skills. Live and learn – we will have need of you in the years ahead.”
He looked, concerned, into the
direction
where they had come from. The noise of fighting and thundering feet
came
closer. “Go now, all of you – I will make sure they cannot follow.
Follow the
path and make your way to either your homes or Imladris where I will
welcome
you.” He smiled sadly. “This is a sad
day, young friends – but do not make it an even bigger gain for the
enemy. This
refuge will fall and the losses are great, but we live and will be a
thorn in the
side of those who did this.”
He made an encouraging gesture.
“May the
Valar protect you, young one. My heart
tells me that we will meet again under better circumstances.
With that Elrond turned back to
the
corridor ahead into the fray. For a while Gwaihad and the remaining
group stood
and looked after him. When the building started to shake, the young Elf
awoke
from his paralysis and raised his voice: “Follow me!”
He didn’t look back.