Chapter 3: Of Roots and Waves

The tall enormous tree creatures stood in the shadowy forest clearing silently watching the elf boy. He was sitting crouched with his knees pulled to his chest staring at the burned and broken corpse of the great pine tree against which the child's sister had been slain.

For many hours the male had rocked the Elfling in his great arms attempting to console him whilst his wife attempted to stem the tide of tears and anguish coming from the soul of the poor child. But nothing they had attempted had made the slightest difference to the boy. He had wept openly and loudly for a time then, trembling, had drifted not into the waking dreams of his kind but into an actual sleep.

It was then that his wife had taken the child and held him as she sat at the edge of the clearing and let the songs of the leaves above and rhythm of the earth below sing to him a lullaby. The gentle rustles of the branches and deep throbbing and crawling from the dirt at their feet seemed to slowly relax the boy. They hoped that when he at last awoke that he would come to his senses and find rescue.

But though long and restful his sleep seemed, when the elf child awoke at last in the bower of leaves and needles that she had made for him as he slumbered, he sat up, seeing but not acknowledging his guardians and caretakers. He stood silently and wandered about the clearing. The male tree had disposed of the bodies of the vermin they had destroyed earlier—as well as the bodies of the child's slain friends. It would not do any good for the boy to wake only to be confronted with the grisly aftermath of the attack and be reminded anew of the reason for his grief.

Canyo ended near the tree where the demon spirit Naur-Oroth had bound his little sister Nellë and cruelly and remorselessly murdered her before his very eyes. The accursed blade that had done the deed lay forgotten in the needles and ash. It was blackened from the heat and hate of the demon. Canyo reached down and with a great effort of both hands hefted it up. It was enormous for a boy of Canyo's size. It looked cruel—fit only for hacking and slashing. In a daze, he laid it down and gathering some vines and grass wove a harness. Then he strapped the great black blade across his own back. He knew not why he did this yet, but some inner shadow moved him to keep the fell weapon.

In a fog he scanned the withered and blackened trunk for the form of his sister, not sure of whether he wished to find her remains or not. But there was no sign or trace of the bright star that had been his darling sister. All was a twisted and splintered mess of wood and ash.

He looked at the trees, heeding them for the first time, as if to ask if they had taken her somewhere. The taller of the two looked deep into his eyes. He understood what Canyo was asking. But he did not answer. He only shook his slowly and mournfully. Canyo looked away back to the awful tree. She is gone. There had been no body to remove or over which to raise a burial mound. The horrid stroke that had ended her had consumed Nellë's small form completely and left no memorial of her in this world.

Canyo sank to his knees at the base of the broken tree. He pushed his fingers deep into the piles of ash that surrounded the broken trunk. This was all that was left of his family. This was all that was left of his dreams and of his journey—this awful grey ash.

He looked at his hands—they were chalky and stained with the fine dust. He buried them once more up to his wrists. Bits of burnt wood lay like needles in the ash poking his hands. But it did not matter to him. He clenched his fists together as hard as he could. He felt empty as if the spark in him had gone out completely. His arms and hands felt weak as if the horrid ash were stronger than him. But even this did not matter to Canyo. He managed to lift one hand out of the ash, gripping a handful of the grey powder—the breeze carrying a trail of it out from between his clenched fingers and sweeping it into the trees beyond his sight.

He took the pouch in which he had initially stored the wolf's tooth and deposited the ash in his hand into it. He clasped it and let it hang limply against him. Somehow it had survived the ordeal. His tunic was in tatters and his belt torn from him, but this small pouch had remained. And now it would carry all that was left of him. He backed a few paces from the ruined tree and sat with his knees to his chest. Here he would wait until the end of time. For he had no idea of what to do, where to go, or if anything mattered any more.

And so Canyo sat in despair as his two rescuers helplessly watched. They ached to ease his pain and to help him find a path. But they had no experience beyond brief sightings with the Elves. They did not speak words like the Elves did. Even if they knew how, they would not know what words to speak to heal the grieving boy. So for a time they simply watched over Canyo as he continued his lonely grief-stricken vigil.

But as the hours drew on they grew concerned that he would remain there until he wasted and faded into nothingness, like a strong sapling that refuses to grow and withers instead. They began to try to get his attention and to draw him out of the darkness they saw in his eyes. They offered him fruits and nuts they gathered from the nearby trees. They patted him and groaned in their wordless tree-voices at Canyo. They even tried stamping and roaring about the clearing in desperation. But Canyo sat unmoving, hardly blinking. He stared at nothing—his eyes unfocused and his spirit wandering in dark places deep within himself.

At last they decided to gather him up and carry him with them until he healed or until them met others of his kind who would take him and care for him in his madness. So the male placed him upon his shoulder nestled within the branches near his face and together he and his wife moved westwards towards the river, hoping to come across the great companies of the Eldar, which they had long been tailing since they set out from Cuiviénen.

As they came out onto the plains they saw that the stars were veiled by thick rain clouds. It was immensely dark. But the tree-creatures knew their way though they had never set foot upon these hills. The land was theirs to wander and cultivate—to make things grow and to protect all that had roots and drank waters from the earth. New hills were no strangers for all was one, united beneath their feet by the circles of the world. So in the span of but a short march for them they had reached the river and the camp of the Eldar. But the Elves had moved on already. The male stood with his wife on a knoll and peered across the swift waters and they saw the line of the Elves moving swiftly westwards now, though small companies shot off north in south moving back and forth as if in search of something.

He let loose a long echoing call to them that floated over fen and hill. The ears of the Eldar heard the strange haunting call, but fear and grief made their feet only hasten onwards. He called again and again. He stomped down to the river bank and sank his root-like toes into the soft mud of the shallows. It was no use. The Eldar were fleeing these lands as fast as they could. What now would become of the lost child they carried with them?

A soft rolling thunder came from the clouds above. Husband and wife looked up and saw a bright star peering through a break in the thick clouds. Its light filled the river valley with a soft glow—the only light that shone in the dark land. Then the clouds let loose their waters. It fell in a soft curtain gently drenching everything it touched.

The persistent patter of the drops echoed inside of Canyo's mind. And slowly they pulled him out of the deep well in which he had sunk himself. At first all sound was dim and far off as if coming from a great distance. But it grew plainer and more vivid. There was the sound of rushing water below him. There was the patter of the rain drops in his dripping hair and clinging to his eye lashes. And there was the creaking of the great walking tree in which he was perched.

It all came into focus at last and his mind awoke wholly for the first time since the attack. The rain and the river washed away his emptiness as if it were only ash dumped in a mountain stream. He felt life in his limbs and his spirit was refreshed. He still hurt and grieved with a pain he could not yet fathom. But he was lifted from the despair and darkness of the abyss. He could live again. But what would he do? Where would he go? His people had left him behind in strange lands. He turned to look at the face of the tree-creature that carried him. Then with growing amazement he realized that it was the same tree that he and Nellë had seen the dreaming before they had left Cuiviénen! Nellë had been right all along! The tree turned his head to look at Canyo. Its bright and fresh eyes blended brown and green in rich earthy streaks—so full of life and vitality. They spoke of strength and growing, of standing and breathing clean air, of waterfalls in the mountains, and rich black soil in which to sink one's roots. The tree smiled at him as he gaped in awe into its wondrously deep and foreign eyes.

Nowë awoke on his back staring up into the branches of the trees overhead. They were fuzzy and seemed to swim before his eyes. He heard water tumbling rapidly over stones nearby—a small stream. Then before him a face came into view. It took him a moment to focus and make out who knelt over him. It was the noble face of Olwë, brother of Elwë, who gazed down upon him with great concern in his eyes. Yet upon seeing Nowë conscious and regaining his senses, his expression became that of joy and relief.

He eased the aching elf up into a sitting position saying, "There we are, friend. Welcome back to the waking world. Now relax and regain your composure. Have some water. You must be parched!"

Nowë drank gratefully from the waterskin that Olwë offered him. Every bit of him ached and was sore. Someone had bound up his injured leg. It felt stiff but he imagined that he could walk on it albeit slowly. He paused his drinking to ask, "How long have I been unconscious?"

"You have been fitful and asleep for two full marches now. We are well west of the great river that you saw us at the night of the attack."

Looking about him Nowë noted the number of elves in the camp. "But this cannot be all of us, even with all of Nolmo's company lost."

"Nay. It is not all of our number. Many are away on an errand," Olwë's expression darkened again in concern.

"What is it? What is the matter?"

Olwë made a brave face, "Do not trouble yourself about it yet, friend. You have suffered much. And rest and peace you shall want more than grievous news. You are but one of four of your company to return to us alive."

Then as if fitting the pieces of a puzzle together that should have been plain but only after much deliberation does one see how they fit, Nowë jumped to his feet, not caring for the stiffness and pain in his body. "Canyo? Where is he? Is he safe? What about Nellë?"

Olwë lowered his eyes then returned them to gaze at Nowë. Ever so slightly he shook his head. "I am sorry, Nowë. I know the boy and his family were precious to you."

Nowë took this news as if it were a great weight laid upon his shoulders and within his body at once. As if he were suddenly made not of flesh and bone but of iron and stone. He sank back to his knees, weary with grief. Then he struggled as if to remember something. "How did I come here? I was surrounded by those foul orqui. I should be dead or their thrall and captive. What happened, Olwë?"

The elf looked into his eyes, considering what to tell him. Then he hardened his face grimly and decided upon the full truth. "You were struck senseless by one of the orqui. They bound you, gagged you, and threw a sack over your head. Then a few of them drug you from the clearing into the forest to torture and execute you and make sport of your body."

"How do you know this?" interrupted Nowë. "You were far away at the time by the banks of the river."

"Yes I was, friend. And for that I am eternally sorry. I should have been present to aid you in your need. But alas I was not. However, they were present." Olwë indicated over Nowë's shoulder. Nowë turned and sitting just behind him were Braigwen and Camceleg, the two elves of Finwë's people that had returned for the missing elf company.

"You two!" Nowë stood and whirled upon them full of anger and resentment, his grief swelling up like a drowning wave. "You hindered me from reaching the boy! He and his sister would be among us now if it were not for you two!"

"Not so, friend," Camceleg replied. "The boy and his sister were beyond our aid or yours ere we rescued you from the net that was cast upon you. By then they were already surrounded by enemies!"

"And if all three of us had attacked them at once then—"

"Then all three of us would be slain or in chains along with the children and the others of your group!" interjected Braigwen with a fire in her eyes. "You are fortunate to be standing here, Nowë, for you were the last of your number that we dared to return into that den of monsters to rescue."

"Then you erred in judgment," Nowë spat. "You should have done all you could to rescue the children! I ought to be the one dead or a thrall. And they the ones here resting and happy to be free with their people! Yet for your judgment that is not so!"

"And so you would indeed be slain!" Braigwen hissed back at him.

"She is right, Nowë," Olwë admitted. "When the orqui hauled you away into the shadows of the trees to slay you, they were watching hidden. When the monsters were distracted they leapt upon them and slew them. You were still senseless. They carried you from that awful place back to us. You owe them your life."

Nowë burned with indignation and anger. The horrible drowning pain threatened to strangle him. He could still see the horrid monsters trying to tear his friend from protecting his child sister. He could see the fear in her eyes and the pain in his as they were hefted before the evil wolf. And they sit here calmly telling me to be grateful for my life! Yet he did not press it further.

He turned to them and in his pain he spoke to them with venom, "Forgive me, brother and sister. I shall indeed never forget what you have done for me…and for the Elves."

Camceleg looked mildly alarmed and Braigwen stared back at Nowë pitting her fire against his venom. "What became of them?" Nowë demanded.

"We know not. We freed you and returned with the others we rescued as swiftly as we could—being burdened with four to bear away amidst fire and enemies."

"So you did not even see their end? You fled into the night while the son of my friend and the daughter of my friend were in mortal peril? You did not even remain to witness the evil doom your fear and inaction wrought upon their young flesh? Curse you Camceleg, Swift Hand. Swift it may be but upon the wrong course. And a curse upon you as well Braigwen—your ferocity is naught but a façade of timidity. Ever may the deeds of your hands and your children's hands lead to ruin and loss, so that they may know the pain you have wrought for the boy Canyo and his sister, Nellë!"

"Peace, Nowë!" Olwë declared loudly and sternly. "Speak no curses or dooms upon your kin! Enough evil has befallen us in recent hours—some of which you do not yet know. Do not darken our joy at your return by bringing more heartache down upon the Eldar, and certainly not upon those that pulled you helpless and senseless from the hands of the orqui."

Nowë gritted his teeth, trying to withstand the immense emotions careening like burning stars within his chest. He resented the correction and burned against the husband and wife still. And his grief was an unimaginable weight. Yet his wisdom and logic broke through the fog of pain and anger and he relented, despite what he felt he ought to say and do in his heart. "You spoke of other evil that has befallen the Elves. What other ill tidings do you bring?"

"Lord Elwë, my brother and the leader of our whole clan, has gone missing."

Several long weeks had passed since Canyo had been healed of the madness following the attack of the demon and the slaying of Nellë. The rains of the heavens and the rushing waters along the earth purged away the darkness and lifted him from the abyss that had swallowed him into its crushing despair.

With his people gone away and with no one in the world to turn to, Canyo had decided to befriend the two creatures that had rescued him. He was confused and troubled why none of his folk returned to investigate his fate. Yet mostly he tried to push such thoughts from his mind for they ignited unwholesome lines of logic. Instead he happily travelled with his rescuers and together they had been slowly wandering and traveling the forests of the land in peace. Canyo ate when he was hungry. He drank when he was thirsty. And he rested upon their branch-like limbs whenever he was weary. They always knew where to find the most succulent fruit, or the most refreshing streams of water, or the most savory nuts and berries. They even wove for him a nesting bed of leaves and bracken for him to sleep upon, for he had taken to actual sleep rather than the wakeful dreaming of his people. For when he meditated the horrors of that night returned anew to him. Yet in complete sleep he found rest and a healing forgetfulness he had never known before.

Yet on occasion he would slip into bouts of deep sorrow and pain. During these times he muttered to himself, nursing the grief of his slain family and friends. He whispered in resentment of his people for never searching for him and even to the Valar for calling them all in the first place. None of this would have happened if they had all simply remained at peace by the shores of Cuiviénen. Yet these dark passions were short-lived and he would become merry and lithe with his new friends once more. His companions seemed to intuitively predict when he would slip into a bout of deep sorrow and they always sought to distract him or comfort him in some way. They were altogether amazing and he grew very fond of them in a short span of time.

They walked on two legs and used two arms like an elf, but they were bark-like and wooden like trees, with branches twigs and leaves sprouting from them. They liked to move slowly and were never in a hurry for anything. But without the madness fogging him, he recalled the fury of their wrath against the monsters. Yet they were ever only gentle and kind to him. He had taken to calling their kind Onodrim. They cared and nurtured and guarded the forests and all green things. They were shepherds of the forest like one might shepherd a herd of animals.

Their eyes were deep pools that always made him think of green things, good soil, and fresh water. He knew without a doubt that they were very intelligent, yet they spoke no words. They groaned and creaked and made ear-splitting hoots but neither of his friends spoke in any intelligible language that Canyo could decipher. Yet this did not prevent him from speaking to them. He spoke to them more than he had ever spoken to anyone. And even though they did not reply—he knew that they understood him somehow.

And despite the communication barrier he managed to learn much from them and about them. He learned in time that they were lovers and companions and had been for many years already. He also discovered that there was also many more of their kind wandering in the wild forests and meadows of the world. They chanced upon another onod a few sleeps before. Canyo had been extremely excited to meet another Tree-herder.

Canyo ate with them and they drank the water of a babbling brook. Then he sang to them songs from his infancy and all three had been transfixed. He could hardly note their breathing, their eyes wide with wonder. It was the first time since meeting them that he had been able to bring himself to sing. When he finished they hooted and waved their branch arms in approval. After a time though, the three moved on wandering.

As they rested under the open stars some rests later Canyo heard a deep rustling voice from his side. The male tree was humming one of the songs that Canyo had sung earlier. Then his wife joined in her sweet swaying tones. Canyo turned and watched them in wonder listening. This was the first time that they had imitated him in this fashion. Then the female began to break her wordless tones into sounds. Her mate joined her and as they closed the final line of the song they were singing in the words of Canyo's tongue! It was halting imperfect and broken but they had done it! They had spoken and sung!

"That was amazing, friends!" he leapt up clapping for them, "Let's have another! I will sing with you this time!" He began another tune that he had sung for them earlier. They joined in with him and after a few lines their halting sounds and uncertainty vanished. By the end of the second song their wondrous forest voices out sang his.

Canyo cast himself down on the soft grass, laughing with joy. "You two never fail to amaze me. You are learning so fast! Soon you will be teaching me things about my own language that I did not know!" The two Onodrim smiled at him and gave great rumbling chuckles.

Then the male placed one long hand upon his sturdy trunk and intoned in his inhaling and exhaling voice, "Fangorn."

"Fangorn? Is that…is that your name?" The onod nodded his head.

"Fangorn," he repeated. Then he motioned to his wife. She looked back at him, surprised. But then thinking deeply she spoke as well, indicating her own trunk.

"Fimbrethil," her voice was slow and sweet, annunciating each sound as if it were some delicious treat.

Canyo was amazed. They had never before indicated that they had names for themselves. Or perhaps now that they were learning to speak they had devised names of their own. He had never bothered to tell them his name. It just had not seemed important or necessary when one's companions did not speak and would not call for him by name.

Yet when he gave them his name it did not seem like it belonged to him anymore. It sounded strange and foreign on his tongue. But he had no other name to give them, so he stuck with 'Canyo' for the time being.

Following their first attempts, Fangorn and Fimbrethil began to sing regularly with Canyo. As they walked he would point to things as they passed by and give the name by which they were known in his tongue. The two Onodrim learned quickly. Soon they were having brief and halting conversations with their elf-companion.

The weeks passed on and became months. Fangorn and Fimbrethil were now fluent in speaking to Canyo although they spoke very slowly and often stopped mid-sentence for minutes at a time to enjoy breathing some gust of wind before continuing. Canyo also noted that they were rumbling in their tree voices often too. But it was different from before. There was a definite order and pattern to their creakings and rumblings. He surmised that they were in the process of creating their own language befit for the tongues and minds of their kind.

As their grasp of language had increased Canyo began to learn much of the forest and the land. He learned to find his way even though he had never been to that region. He learned the names of trees and what was good to eat and what was not. He conversed with the animals that came amongst them. Some of which the Onodrim were fond but a few others Canyo had to escort away as Fangorn glared at them believing them to be tree-harmers. He also learned to be patient and to enjoy the sensations of the world about him—the faint light of the stars in the sky twinkling, the sensation of water from a stream flowing over his bare feet, the warm vibrant flavor of fresh strawberries, the clear pine scented breeze that came from the mountains. And so the months slowly passed on to a year and it passed on to many years.

Canyo had grown taller—the blade at his back now only barely longer than he was tall. Though a few dozen years of age, he was still a youth and not yet transitioning into physical maturity (Elves age slowly and do not reach their prime until they are half a century or more). Canyo was not yet come into manhood or even young-manhood but he had indeed grown over time. His wandering with the Onodrim had made his hair wild but his body strong. He was hardly concerned with his people away westwards. They left me after all. And here with my friends I am free. His fits of brooding occurred less and less frequently but they were more intense and filled with ever more resentful thoughts when he succumbed to them. He longed for the mountains and Fangorn and Fimbrethil agreed. So they wandered up and down the hills and plains just west of the Blue Mountains, enjoying peace and complete freedom. Canyo had not imagined that this would be how he learned the secrets of the world but he was content.

Nowë raced around the great hill. The footsteps of many Elf feet lay before him. Bridles and waterskins lay cast aside upon the side of the path. I am almost there! We are almost there! He pushed his legs to move faster than ever!

News had come back from Oromë to hasten with all speed for he would not wait much longer for the lagging people of Elwë to arrive upon the shores. Already all of Ingwë and Finwë's people had reached the shore and were prepared to travel across the sea with Oromë and apparently a Valar who ruled the great waters named Ulmo. But Oromë had made it clear that he could not long delay. He regretted very much that the Elves had been unable to locate their lost Lord for over a year. But he could not make the rest of the Eldar wait while they combed every glen and forest for Elwë.

And so a large group led by Nowë and Olwë made for the coast with all speed, though they left many to continue to search for Elwë. And now the great sea was just around the next hill. Nowë could hear the waves and the cry of the gulls. He felt strangely feverish and compelled to see the waves. It became an obsession as if nothing else mattered to him. His feet moved more swiftly than he had ever moved them before.

He was the first of his folk to tear across onto the flat sandy shore and behold the immense rolling waves of the sea. He stood there in the wet sand feeling the water crash over his ankles and soak his boots. The waves twinkled brightly under the stars and they sang a never-ending song that entranced him. Above him sea gulls lauded the song of the sea and called for more. The salt came into his nose and filled him with longing.

He realized that it was not the sea in itself that he craved but the crossing of the sea to the land of the Valar. He needed to go to Mandos and beg to trade places with Nolmo and his family. He had learned that the spirits of the slain went to a great hall in Valinor where they were guarded and healed of their sorrows. And when Mandos deemed them well they were given the choice to leave the great hall and be re-embodied. Nowë needed to be there for them—to help them heal.

In his wonder at the spectacle of the great ocean he did not at first notice that there were no others of his people. The other clans were not upon the shore. Where are they? He turned frantically wondering if perhaps they had come to the wrong part of the shore.

But then with a horrid realization he saw the rest of the Eldar. They were far off shore upon an immense isle of land. Oromë stood upon the brink of the isle. He was getting smaller though. They are leaving without us!

"Wait! Do not go! We are here! We are here! See us! Come back! We are here! We are ready to leave! Wait! We are here!" Nowë shouted as loud as he could. None of the Eldar could hear him but Oromë turned back to the shores of Middle Earth and looked at Nowë.

By now Olwë and the rest of the elves with them were coming onto the beach staring out in disbelief and dismay at the retreating isle and their kin upon it. Many shouted as Nowë had done. But he stood silent now and numb. They left us!

Then faint and far off came the horn of Oromë. His great voice echoed softly over the waves like a whisper. "I shall return for you. You are not forgotten Children of the Stars! I shall return I promise!"

Nowë gazed in disappointment as the isle sank out of sight, hidden by the waves. Finally after a long silence he turned to Olwë who stood beside him with shoulders slumped.

"Now what?"

The stars were veiled and all was deep in shadow as Fangorn, Fimbrethil, and Canyo walked higher into the foothills of the mountains than they had ever yet been, since they had all crossed them with the company of the Eldar.

Canyo tried to enjoy the new song that Fimbrethil sang and the fresh fruit that he and Fangorn had found but he could not. There was a splinter in his mind that poked and prodded his sense of peace and contentment no matter what he did to enjoy his time. He realized it was the same feeling he had had a year ago upon the hill with his father.

Canyo spoke to Fangorn about it, but Fangorn was slow to anger and slower to worry. So Canyo simply kept his eyes open and his senses aware. They wandered into a dark glen of tall fir trees when the hair upon his neck prickled intensely. He whirled about on Fangorn peering into the trees behind them. There was nothing.

Then he turned ahead. They were passing among huge boulders that lay strewn randomly in the clearing. Odd. How did such large stones come to be in this glen?

Just as he thought this the boulders erupted upwards and unfurled themselves into great monsters! They appeared like the orqui that had attacked him all those years ago but these were immense! They were thick and muscled and as tall as Fangorn! They roared loudly and all five fiercely charged the three of them.

They caught Fimbrethil off guard and three of them bowled her over striking her and grabbing her limbs and twisting them. She cried out and resisted greatly. The creatures grunted and strained. Even with three of them they were hard pressed to over-power Fimbrethil.

The other two came at Fangorn and Canyo. He placed the elf on the ground between his legs for protection. The enemies squared off circling one another until one great monster stormed Fangorn and grappled with him. The second came in the next moment and latched onto the great onod pulling and wrenching him in every direction. Canyo ducked and dove every which direction avoiding the immense trunks and legs that were stomping and flailing in the glen.

Fangorn lifted the giant creature on his back high into the air and tossed it into the trees. Despite the danger, Canyo was awed by the strength of his friend. Throwing the little orqui was one thing but to lift a monster like this and throw him high into the branches of a tree was a wonder of might. The tree enveloped it and ensnared it. It roared in rage and frustration.

Fimbrethil managed to get an elbow across the throat of one of the monsters that was ripping at her and crush it. It flopped away clutching its neck and gasping for a few moments before it lay still. The other two were more wary and continued to twist her right arm and pound it in attempt to break it off.

Fangorn roared in rage as he noticed his wife's struggle. He blocked a strike from the monster in front of him and grabbed its own arm and with a tremendous cry ripped it from the wretched creature. It roared in turn but in agony and pain. Fangorn took the dismembered limb and struck its former owner across the head with it. It went down hard against the tree where its fellow was ensared.

The creature in the tree was released and fell upon his comrade. In a blink Fangorn was over them beating them with the arm he had taken. Then he placed one immense root-covered foot on the chest of the monster on top, and with a roar forced his trunk-like leg downwards.

It was like watching a tree grow deep into the earth—spreading its roots downwards and claiming the earth as its own. The two creatures screamed and roared until they gasped no more under the force and piercing roots of Fangorn.

Then he turned to go to the aid of Fimbrethil. But the two remaining monsters had managed to wrench her arm back behind her and they held her up before them as a shield and a hostage. Their fierce flat faces burned with a wild anger—almost animal like. Then one spoke in a deep voice spewing course grunts and snuffs that only vaguely sounded like words. But its face and tone spoke clearly through its slavering filthy noises. It twisted hard on her arm and she gave a cry that made the leaves and branches quiver in rage.

Fangorn stood stock still glaring at the two monsters. They stared back in a tense standoff. They kept pressing and twisting Fimbrethil's arm. She reached vainly for them behind her with her other arm but they remained out of reach of her birch-fingers. Yet in all the chaos of the fight the huge beasts had failed to take notice of Canyo following the initial onslaught. He had been forced to the edges of the brawl to avoid being trampled. But now he found that they were so focused on Fangorn and Fimbrethil that he was completely ignored and he crept slowly among the trees beginning to flank them.

They forced her down upon her immense knees and one seized her near her face twisting mightily. But the strength of Fimbrethil was tremendous and she resisted the force of the monster and lunged with her left branch for it. It was forced to relinquish its grip upon her slender throat but it seized all of her arm and with all of its strength pulled it back so that she could not gain leverage. She roared in pain and frustration, kicking up with her legs lifting the giant monsters into the air momentarily before all three crashed back down to the ground all snarling and grunting.

Fangorn knew that if he approached they would slay her, but he feared that if he did nothing they would slay her anyways. It was then that he took notice of Canyo lightly climbing the tree directly behind the struggling trio. Hope kindled within his heartwood and he bellowed at the monsters pulling their attention forward to him, "Look hither you stone-maggots for my face is the last visage you shall see upon the earth or beneath it!"

The distraction worked and Canyo clambered out upon the branch that hung over the heads of the two monsters and Fimbrethil. He unfastened the blade at his back—the immense knife that he collected from the demon. It was incredibly heavy. But he managed to heft it over his head, the branch dipping as he balanced upon it. The monsters were wholly unaware of him as they spat and cursed at Fangorn.

They pulled back on Fimbrethil's arms powerfully and he heard a wooden snap from her right branch and she screamed in pain. The whole forest quivered and trembled. And it shook even more from the wrath of Fangorn as he roared with every fiber in his great trunk.

Canyo could wait no longer. Now! He bounced on the branch and let it sling him high into the air. He steadied the enormous blade over his head. He arched his body into a crescent as he descended upon the head of one of the monsters. He brought it down with all of the force he could muster—which was far more than he thought himself capable.

The blade clove into its shoulder and split bone and muscle and fell deep into its torso. It was a grievous blow though just shy of mortal. But the monster roared in fear and pain letting go of Fimbrethil. In a flash Fangorn was upon the wounded creature. Canyo let go of the blade, leaving it wedged in the gory slash of its shoulder. He dove out of the way and rolled in the needles. Fangorn hit the beast full force and lifted him high into the air. It was screaming in fear now more than pain. It knew that its end was near. Fangorn cried and brought the giant beast down upon his wooden knee and there was a crack as of a young sapling breaking in a storm. The monster jerked once and was motionless. Fangorn tossed its limp carcass onto the earth.

At the same time Fimbrethil with her left arm free had twisted around and lifted the last creature off of its feet and seizing its entire head in her left hand lifted it and flipped it over her body and slammed it with enormous force upon the earth. Dust trembled and wafted under the needles of the fir trees. Fangorn joined her over the final creature and together they proceeded to tear it apart limb by limb until they used their root-like toes and fingers to pull apart its awful insides. It was a ghastly and grisly sight, but the ire of the Onodrim was high and they were terrible and ruthless in their wrath.

After it was done they gathered the bits and the bodies of the other dead monsters and piled them in a clearing under the stars. Fimbrethil let her right arm hang, swaying uselessly. It was badly injured. But she aided her husband and they left the small hill of dead creatures to rot in the open for all who came hence to see. He pulled the blade from the pile of the dead and returned it to Canyo. "Once more I am in your debt, young Elfling. You have the strength of a young hardwood and all of the fire of your own people. Fimbrethil owes you her life and I owe you for saving my love."

Canyo simply nodded in a humble bow. He noticed that they moved very slowly now. They lumbered a ways into the woods. Canyo followed them. "Fangorn, how badly is she hurt? Will she be alright? Fangorn?" But his friend cradled his wife's hurt arm and rumbled in the tongue he had devised. It was long and mournful with bits of creaking wrath still in it. It went on for some minutes as they passed slowly among the trees.

"Where are you going? What are we going to do?"

"We are very weary, my young friend." Fangorn rumbled. "And Fimbrethil is grievously hurt. We must find water. We must find water and heal."

After an hour they came to a stream and a pool. They were upon the side of the mountain now. They were not very high yet but Canyo knew that they were farther up than they had ever travelled together. He looked back to see his friends sink their roots into the stream. She leaned into him and Fangorn wrapped his branches about her, supporting her injured arm. They rumbled deep and slowly in their treeish language for a long time. Canyo kept watch.

He was not entirely sure that all was well just yet. The great monsters were gone certainly, but the shadow at the back of his mind did not fade as he expected that it would. It lingered all the more and he found himself restless and anxious. After a few hours he returned to the feet of his friends who were now silent and breathing slowly in deep breaths, their eyes closed peacefully.

"I do not think that we should linger here. There are still evil things that prowl these woods. I can feel them. Fangorn? Fimbrethil?"

But neither onod answered him. They remained very still entwined together breathing in their rich wooden way.

He tried again, "Fimbrethil! Are you feeling better? Fangorn? We must go quickly. This is not a good place to be found unprepared."

But both were silent. He shouted up at them and waved his hands. Becoming increasingly desperate he lit a fire in front of them and broke dead branches across their shins. But they neither noticed him nor cared what he did. They had retreated deep within themselves.

Canyo noticed small green creepers spiraling over Fimbrethil's injured arm. They clung to her and were filling in the crack and splits within her great branch. They bound it up like a cast. Then he guessed at what was wrong with his companions. They were in a deep healing trance. And they would not come back to the world of the waking until Fimbrethil was fully healed of her wound.

The anxiety in his stomach tightened. We cannot stay here! What am I to do? I cannot move them or rouse them. He knew grimly what must be done. I will remain at their side and watch over them. I will protect them while they heal. But when they awake they shall surely hear of the trouble they have caused!

He sat at their feet to draw in the soft soil by the side of the stream, but no sooner had he made his first stroke than he heard cruel and course laughter from the woods about him. He stood and widened his stance. I knew it! I wish I were not right all of the time.

From the shadows crept orqui. They came in many shapes and sizes. They were all dressed in ragged scraps of cloth and bits of leather. They gurgled and growled at him brandishing their long cruel blades. There were well over a score of them.

Canyo backed against the feet of the Onodrim. He pulled his blade from his back and let its tip dip to the soil. He would need all of his strength for the fight and his only weapon was much too large for him still.

Then a leader of the pack stepped forward. It was tall with no hair upon its head. Scars criss-crossed its muscled torso. It was horribly pale as if it were a creature that hid in the earth. It spoke in a deep mocking voice. It was some foul language. And although he did not know the words the creature spoke he understood him all the same. He spoke mockingly to his comrades. What was an elf child doing all alone in the mountains?

He raised a huge iron mace and pointed at the demon's blade and spoke again. Canyo realized he meant to claim it for himself once he had slain Canyo. Canyo felt the old fire in his bones again. His eyes narrowed and his body moved of its own initiative.

He spoke to the giant orc, "I am Canyo, son of Nolmo, friend of the Onodrim. By what name are you known?"

The pale orc captain smiled with a sneer. Apparently he understood Canyo's words. He answered by placing his left hand upon his scarred chest and simply stated in his deep fell voice, "Azog."

Canyo smiled grimly, "Well met Azog." He hefted his immense black blade over his head with both hands. Then he stared directly into Azog's violent and lustful eyes. "You desire my blade? Come and claim it!"

Author's Note

There are several theories about the origins of both orcs and trolls. For the purposes of this story I am of the notion that orcs originated from the poor elves that were captured by Morgoth and his servants. These were tortured and twisted and ruined and forced to breed with other horrible and dark creatures. But as they were still elves thus remained immortal (as to why Azog makes an appearance). Over time through cross-breeding, in-breeding and the occasional evil maiar spirit that took the form of an orc, the orcs populations became more divergent from elves and some may have lost immortality—being prone to disease and age. Most of the old and original orcs/goblins were slain (immortal or no), what with the life of an orc being so fraught with danger and peril. An average orc was as much likely to perish at the hands of one its traitorous fellows or from the ire of its commander as much as in battle against the other peoples of Middle Earth. Yet I believe that a few exceptional old orcs and goblins (like Azog and Bolg) not only managed to survive but thrived as tribal warriors, chieftains, and orc-generals all the way into the days of Thorin, Bilbo, Frodo, and the time of the War of the Ring.

Trolls were devised in imitation and mockery of the Ents. Whether they were bred from other evil creatures or were derived from the stone of the mountains I cannot decide but they fall far short of the intelligence, majesty, and strength of the creatures to which they were created to be a match.

Again this is just my interpretation and opinion. Much of this is conjecture. But I write simply for enjoyment, and not to change or usurp Tolkien canon.

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