[B7] In the shadow of Gundabad
Mar. 14th, 2012 02:20 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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b2memB2MeM Challenge: “Watcher in the Water” (Beasts), “Love” (Deep Thoughts), “Cliffs” (Landscape).
Format: ficlet(or a bit longer)
Genre: general
Rating: PGish
Warnings: critter death
Characters: Aiwendil, Saruman, Alatar, Pallando, Gandalf
Summary:The Istari encounter a strange creature in the shadow of the mountain. Gandalf has awesome hand-eye coordination. Takes place within the first year of the Istari arriving in Middle-earth.
Alatar eyed the dark cliffs that rose on either side of the gap. Though Anar rode upon a clear sky and the late spring day was a warm one, the cliffs overshadowed this place. If there had been time earlier in the day for the sunlight to duck in briefly before it moved west, that time had been insufficient to warm the stone. It was chilly in the shadow.
The streams were still running cold and fast with meltwater. One flung itself down from the cliffs in a wispy, attenuated fall and followed the northwestern edge of the pass for some little time before zigzagging down the steep slopes below. Its whispering was amplified hollowly by the opposing cliff faces.
The time it had taken the Istari to cross the lands between the moors and the mountain had been sufficient for the disconcerting sense of present malice to fade. Whatever had come or gone through the gap recently, its trail was now cold. While it was something of a relief that their investigation had yielded nothing, Alatar also found it frustrating. It meant that some unknown darkness was at large.
They made ready to leave, but Aiwendil loitered beside the stream. “There’s a squid in here, fellows! Odd…” He leaned down and extended a hand.
“Aiwendil!” Curumo said sharply, striding toward him. The cliffs threw his voice about rather imposingly, and Aiwendil paused with his hand near the water.
“What’s the trouble, Curunír?”
“Squid cannot survive in fresh water, they are not equipped–”
“Yet there’s a squid in here, whatever your science has to say about it,” Aiwendil observed somewhat defiantly.
Curumo reached the edge of the stream and peered down at a hand-sized shape distorted by the swift water. “After all the time you spent in Kementári’s tutelage, I should think you would recognize when a creature does not belong in a certain–”
“My business is to love the creatures of Arda, not to dissect or taxonimate or whatever you–”
“Taxonomize,” snapped Curumo, his patience fraying, but quickly collected himself. “Aiwendil, I do not seek to nitpick your understanding of biological principles; I am trying to explain that this may be an unnatural creature.”
Aiwendil looked down at the dark greyish–crimson shape moving in the water. Any time it essayed upstream, the current soon pushed it back again. “But all creatures are natural, to themselves. And I don’t think this one wants to be here. The current must have brought it out from some channel inside the mountain.”
“Squid do not live in mountains.”
“There you go again,” complained Aiwendil as the current brought the creature nearer to where his hand still hovered inches above the water.
“You are not understanding what I’m–” Seeing the shape in the water abruptly abandon its upstream campaign and shoot toward Aiwendil, Curumo darted in to snatch the other’s arm back; but the creature was quicker, and it emerged firmly attached to Aiwendil’s hand. It dug in with beaklike jaws and wrapped writhing tentacles efficiently around fingers and wrist.
Aiwendil yelped in pain and surprise. He tried to shake the animal off, then to prise it off. Two of the tentacles sought his free wrist and closed on it with uncanny strength, as though the thing were living manacles. Large, flat eyes stared up at him, and he began to feel something like fear.
Olórin charged in with his stick. In an impressive split-second estimation of the trajectories and velocities of several flailing objects, he clubbed the attacker squarely between its disconcerting eyes. He missed both Aiwendil’s hand and Curumo’s jugular by a hair’s breath. The squid-like creature, briefly stunned, fell to the ground with a damp thump. Rallying, it began to writhe energetically.
Alatar and Pallando exchanged glances and went to join their colleagues. They all stood around the animal, watching its movements silently, seized with a growing revulsion. It did look generally like a squid, but some weird dimensionality lay just under its flat gaze. Its pupils seemed to open onto wells of ill intent.
“It deliberately attacked Aiwendil,” Alatar finally said.
Curumo pronounced, “Kill it.”
Alatar dealt best with killing things. This had been common knowledge since the days when Oromë had set a guard on Cuiviénen, and fell creatures had needed dispatching lest they trouble the Firstborn. Therefore Curumo glanced to him expectantly, and Alatar, who was in full agreement with the other’s assessment, raised his staff.
“Wait,” protested Aiwendil. “It was merely frightened, it–did not feel safe and it saw my hand as a threat.”
“Your hand was nowhere near it; it deliberately changed course to attack you when it saw you.” Curumo glanced down again at the creature, brow furrowed. “I have been trying to tell you that an animal like this cannot be, unless by a profound tampering. Some sorcery or advanced genetics or something has wrought it, and clearly with no benign intent. Whatever power visited Gundabad recently, it must have left this animal in some watercourse within the mountain. It was probably a fluke that it found its way out.”
“There may be more in there,” Alatar said. “There’s little good in putting one small thing within so large a mountain.”
“Why put such a thing in a mountain at all,” wondered Olórin, “unless to guard it?”
“You believe this is a sentry?” Pallando indicated the animal with the end of his staff. As though aware that it was being spoken of, it abandoned its attempt to drag itself back toward the water and writhed instead directly toward Pallando’s feet.
Alatar felt his skin crawl. The creature was extremely disconcerting despite its small size. He moved again to strike, and again Aiwendil began to protest unconvincingly. Becoming annoyed, Alatar snapped, “This thing is foul. It is not just minding its own business, it actively watches for interlopers. And if it’s not yet full grown, it will only become more of a danger.”
Aiwendil mumbled inarticulately, the inner corners of his eyes shining, before turning on his heel and stalking away. Olórin followed him, placatingly invoking the name some village children in Rhudaur had bestowed on him, “Radagast…”
Left to his business, Alatar brought the foot of his staff soundly down on the creature; but it was not to be easily disposed of. Rather than being crushed, it stared up angrily from where it now lay pinned on the ground, embracing the staff with all its tentacles as though to climb it. Alatar gathered power beyond merely physical force, and pushed down on the staff. Amid sparks and flashes of light, the watcher from the water perished, pieces of it scattering in several directions.
Pallando kicked a writhing tentacle off his boot. “I shouldn’t care to see a larger version of that.”
Alatar nodded, glancing up at the lofty flank of Mount Gundabad. “Is Aiwendil resolved to get us all killed with his sentimentality?”
Curumo glanced over to where Olórin and Aiwendil stood talking some distance off. “Even he has no love for such a creature as this, I don’t think; rather, he hates to accept that it has been twisted, and so he makes excuses for its behavior. To accept it would be to accept that the animals of Middle Earth are no safer from the dark powers than are its people.”
--------------
A/N - part of a longer story which is posted on MPTT as "Istari, circa 1040 Third Age," no time to link.
Format: ficlet(or a bit longer)
Genre: general
Rating: PGish
Warnings: critter death
Characters: Aiwendil, Saruman, Alatar, Pallando, Gandalf
Summary:The Istari encounter a strange creature in the shadow of the mountain. Gandalf has awesome hand-eye coordination. Takes place within the first year of the Istari arriving in Middle-earth.
Alatar eyed the dark cliffs that rose on either side of the gap. Though Anar rode upon a clear sky and the late spring day was a warm one, the cliffs overshadowed this place. If there had been time earlier in the day for the sunlight to duck in briefly before it moved west, that time had been insufficient to warm the stone. It was chilly in the shadow.
The streams were still running cold and fast with meltwater. One flung itself down from the cliffs in a wispy, attenuated fall and followed the northwestern edge of the pass for some little time before zigzagging down the steep slopes below. Its whispering was amplified hollowly by the opposing cliff faces.
The time it had taken the Istari to cross the lands between the moors and the mountain had been sufficient for the disconcerting sense of present malice to fade. Whatever had come or gone through the gap recently, its trail was now cold. While it was something of a relief that their investigation had yielded nothing, Alatar also found it frustrating. It meant that some unknown darkness was at large.
They made ready to leave, but Aiwendil loitered beside the stream. “There’s a squid in here, fellows! Odd…” He leaned down and extended a hand.
“Aiwendil!” Curumo said sharply, striding toward him. The cliffs threw his voice about rather imposingly, and Aiwendil paused with his hand near the water.
“What’s the trouble, Curunír?”
“Squid cannot survive in fresh water, they are not equipped–”
“Yet there’s a squid in here, whatever your science has to say about it,” Aiwendil observed somewhat defiantly.
Curumo reached the edge of the stream and peered down at a hand-sized shape distorted by the swift water. “After all the time you spent in Kementári’s tutelage, I should think you would recognize when a creature does not belong in a certain–”
“My business is to love the creatures of Arda, not to dissect or taxonimate or whatever you–”
“Taxonomize,” snapped Curumo, his patience fraying, but quickly collected himself. “Aiwendil, I do not seek to nitpick your understanding of biological principles; I am trying to explain that this may be an unnatural creature.”
Aiwendil looked down at the dark greyish–crimson shape moving in the water. Any time it essayed upstream, the current soon pushed it back again. “But all creatures are natural, to themselves. And I don’t think this one wants to be here. The current must have brought it out from some channel inside the mountain.”
“Squid do not live in mountains.”
“There you go again,” complained Aiwendil as the current brought the creature nearer to where his hand still hovered inches above the water.
“You are not understanding what I’m–” Seeing the shape in the water abruptly abandon its upstream campaign and shoot toward Aiwendil, Curumo darted in to snatch the other’s arm back; but the creature was quicker, and it emerged firmly attached to Aiwendil’s hand. It dug in with beaklike jaws and wrapped writhing tentacles efficiently around fingers and wrist.
Aiwendil yelped in pain and surprise. He tried to shake the animal off, then to prise it off. Two of the tentacles sought his free wrist and closed on it with uncanny strength, as though the thing were living manacles. Large, flat eyes stared up at him, and he began to feel something like fear.
Olórin charged in with his stick. In an impressive split-second estimation of the trajectories and velocities of several flailing objects, he clubbed the attacker squarely between its disconcerting eyes. He missed both Aiwendil’s hand and Curumo’s jugular by a hair’s breath. The squid-like creature, briefly stunned, fell to the ground with a damp thump. Rallying, it began to writhe energetically.
Alatar and Pallando exchanged glances and went to join their colleagues. They all stood around the animal, watching its movements silently, seized with a growing revulsion. It did look generally like a squid, but some weird dimensionality lay just under its flat gaze. Its pupils seemed to open onto wells of ill intent.
“It deliberately attacked Aiwendil,” Alatar finally said.
Curumo pronounced, “Kill it.”
Alatar dealt best with killing things. This had been common knowledge since the days when Oromë had set a guard on Cuiviénen, and fell creatures had needed dispatching lest they trouble the Firstborn. Therefore Curumo glanced to him expectantly, and Alatar, who was in full agreement with the other’s assessment, raised his staff.
“Wait,” protested Aiwendil. “It was merely frightened, it–did not feel safe and it saw my hand as a threat.”
“Your hand was nowhere near it; it deliberately changed course to attack you when it saw you.” Curumo glanced down again at the creature, brow furrowed. “I have been trying to tell you that an animal like this cannot be, unless by a profound tampering. Some sorcery or advanced genetics or something has wrought it, and clearly with no benign intent. Whatever power visited Gundabad recently, it must have left this animal in some watercourse within the mountain. It was probably a fluke that it found its way out.”
“There may be more in there,” Alatar said. “There’s little good in putting one small thing within so large a mountain.”
“Why put such a thing in a mountain at all,” wondered Olórin, “unless to guard it?”
“You believe this is a sentry?” Pallando indicated the animal with the end of his staff. As though aware that it was being spoken of, it abandoned its attempt to drag itself back toward the water and writhed instead directly toward Pallando’s feet.
Alatar felt his skin crawl. The creature was extremely disconcerting despite its small size. He moved again to strike, and again Aiwendil began to protest unconvincingly. Becoming annoyed, Alatar snapped, “This thing is foul. It is not just minding its own business, it actively watches for interlopers. And if it’s not yet full grown, it will only become more of a danger.”
Aiwendil mumbled inarticulately, the inner corners of his eyes shining, before turning on his heel and stalking away. Olórin followed him, placatingly invoking the name some village children in Rhudaur had bestowed on him, “Radagast…”
Left to his business, Alatar brought the foot of his staff soundly down on the creature; but it was not to be easily disposed of. Rather than being crushed, it stared up angrily from where it now lay pinned on the ground, embracing the staff with all its tentacles as though to climb it. Alatar gathered power beyond merely physical force, and pushed down on the staff. Amid sparks and flashes of light, the watcher from the water perished, pieces of it scattering in several directions.
Pallando kicked a writhing tentacle off his boot. “I shouldn’t care to see a larger version of that.”
Alatar nodded, glancing up at the lofty flank of Mount Gundabad. “Is Aiwendil resolved to get us all killed with his sentimentality?”
Curumo glanced over to where Olórin and Aiwendil stood talking some distance off. “Even he has no love for such a creature as this, I don’t think; rather, he hates to accept that it has been twisted, and so he makes excuses for its behavior. To accept it would be to accept that the animals of Middle Earth are no safer from the dark powers than are its people.”
--------------
A/N - part of a longer story which is posted on MPTT as "Istari, circa 1040 Third Age," no time to link.
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Date: 2012-03-15 09:08 pm (UTC)