Chapter Four: Wolves in the Night

She slept uneasily, her dreams full of dark things stalking under dark boughs.

She was running through a forest, its trees at first large and round and well-spaced, like those of home. What she was running from she did not know; every time she turned her head to look, her vision swam, and whatever was chasing her grew blurry and indistinct. Then the trees crowded closer together, her path through them becoming less and less clear, and their limbs reached out ever further and impeded her progress, their sharp, curling ends tearing her clothes and scratching her skin.

Her pursuer gained ground; she could hear its thudding footsteps coming through the forest. The gnarled trunks and branches pressed nearer and nearer, hindering her every movement. She tried to climb one of them, but her arms and legs… they wouldn't work. A keen howling came out of the darkness under the trees. The thing behind her was wailing, long and high, and there was something horribly familiar about its call.

"Cadhríen! Cadhríen, wake up!"

A hand was shaking her roughly. Her eyes opened, but she was still sleep-addled, and it took her a few seconds to register the black shapes of her companions moving to and fro above her. It was still night, but the fog had cleared a good deal. There was a brisk wind blowing. Blinking away the dream, she saw stars winking in the navy sky.

Then she heard it: a drawn-out howl from close by, rising sharply then falling in pitch. It was joined by others. She sat up and scrabbled for her belongings in the waving grass. She did not know who had shaken her.

"They must have come upon us in the fog and waited for their chance," she heard Celeborn shout, and there came the ring of steel as he drew his sword. "Curse them!"

"Arm yourselves and make for the forest!" called Haldir, and suddenly she felt his strong arms pulling her up, pressing her cold silver dagger into her hand. "Celeborn and I will bring up the rear!"

Cadhríen looked around frantically as they untied the ponies and began to run east, leaving nothing on the grass save the remnants of their meal and a few discarded blankets, abandoned by their panicked owners. She could not see the wolves; not yet. But she could hear the pounding of paws on the grass behind them, growing louder, and it reminded her of her dream. Her heart leapt.

The wolves were swift, but the Elves were also. Cadhríen put one hand to her back and fumbled quickly for her bow. It felt strange in her arms – she had not shot anything for years – but she nocked an arrow anyway and looked back at the wide, night-shrouded plains behind her. That was when she saw their eyes: red pinpricks in the dark, six pairs of them at most. One for every two of the Elves. She felt a flicker of relief, but it was weak and wavering.

Haldir and Celeborn slowed, dropping back, and she hesitated and turned around fully, not wanting to leave them behind.

"Go!" cried Haldir, his grey eyes wild and blazing, and he strung an arrow and let it fly into the night. There was a high yelp. The last thing she saw before she whirled and sped east after the rest of the company was Celeborn's sword, white like frost on a winter's morning, glittering coldly under the stars. She heard Haldir and his Lord cry out together – Valinor! – and then they were gone, lost in the blackness, and she looked ahead and could see nothing before her, only the endless, empty night.


She ran for what seemed like an hour, but did not catch up to her companions. Eventually, out of the darkness ahead, a great host of thin, twisted figures suddenly loomed, and she stumbled back with a whimper. But then she realised they were trees, and she crept forward towards them, her breath coming shaky and fast.

Mirkwood.

Her heart was heavy with dread as she took her first, tentative steps under its boughs. She had never before set foot in a forest that felt so… ill. It was black as pitch under the trees, and even her keen Elvish eyes struggled to pick out a clear way forward. There was no sign of the path they had been following – in the turmoil of the attack and her hasty flight east, she had probably veered slightly north or south. Without knowing which, it would be difficult to find the Old Forest Road at night. She should stay put until morning, when she could venture a short way out of the forest and gauge the lay of the land.

She unshouldered her pack and huddled at the base of a large, gnarled oak, listening closely to the noises around her. There were no Elvish footsteps or fair voices to be heard; just the flitting of bats, the fluttering of large moths and the rustling and chirping of animals in the undergrowth. Every now and then, as she looked about her, a small pair of yellow or green eyes glinted out from the darkness, then flashed away again with a swishing of leaves. The wind did not penetrate the tangled treeline, and the air was still and warm. It did not take long for her to doze off, her head cushioned by the ivy wreathed around the oak's trunk, and she slept dreamlessly for an hour or two, until she was woken by the hooting of dawn-birds and the dripping of cold dew on her upturned face.

She sat listening again for a while, and thought she heard faint movement nearby. But before she could rise and creep forward cautiously to investigate, there was a sudden, loud rustling among the bushes and ferns, and out of them strode Haldir, a long knife held out in front of him to cut away the brush.

"Haldir!" she cried, and sprung to her feet, cheered to see him hale and unharmed after the attack of the night before. Yet he put a finger to his lips and gestured south, picking his way over the leaves and ivy to help her with her pack and quiver.

"We are not too far from the Old Forest Road," he said in a low whisper, "but Celeborn and I witnessed a band of goblins travelling along it before dawn, carrying weapons and torches. They seemed unconcerned at their visibility." His face was pale and drawn. "I fear this is an evil place; eviller perhaps than we first thought, even this far north of the Tower."

When she had strapped her belongings to her back and had her mallorn shortbow in her hands, he led her north-east through the knotted foliage, to where Celeborn was waiting with two others of their party.

"I am glad to see you well, Cadhríen," the Lord of the Wood said quietly. "We have not yet found the rest of the company, but we think they cannot be far."

"What of the wolves?" Cadhríen said, glancing west through the crowd of trees. "What happened?"

"We dealt with them," Celeborn said simply, "and we hope that none remain, for it looks like the ponies were turned loose at the edge of the forest. Their baggage has gone; our companions must be carrying it."

"That is quite a load," she replied, peering into the thin, grey mist that still clung in places to the leaves and matted branches about them. "They cannot have gone very far."

"No," Haldir agreed, and set off north-east again, beckoning for them to follow. "The Elvenking's Halls lie this way. I think our friends are a little ahead of us, as they reached the wood first. We will soon catch up to them."

And catch up to them they did, before the end of that day, in a small dell about twenty miles on into the forest, where the land was just beginning to rise up around them and the trees stood a little further apart from one another. They greeted each other warmly and shared out the baggage between them, but Haldir still looked grave. "We have come too far eastwards," he muttered, looking around them at the banks and hollows. "These are the foothills of the Mountains of Mirkwood, where dark things dwell. We may rest here a short while, but then we must turn north."

They were unable to go much further after their rest, for night fell on them quickly and shrouded the forest floor in inky black. They did not risk a fire, being so close still to the mountains, but now that they were together again their hearts were cheered, and they sat up for a time and sang in quiet voices, and talked of the wolves and of the forest.

Cadhríen nibbled a wedge of lembas and listened to the chatter, glad that she was no longer out in the open, but not as glad as some of the others to be under leaves and branches again. This place was oppressive; it seemed to push in around her on all sides, and she was constantly aware of its enormity, its terrifying vastness. Not to mention the goblins and other fell creatures that Haldir had hinted at, sharing this expanse of black with them, roaming out there in the gloom, unseen. She had set out on this trip with a wariness of the Wood-elves and their strange and unfamiliar ways… now she found herself looking forward to reaching the safety of their halls. How they could live here, in this unseemly place, she had no idea. She shivered and pulled her cloak around her, and stared back at the green and yellow eyes watching her from the shadows.


The next day, the cobwebs began to appear.

They were huge and thick and sticky, white as a crone's hair, stretched between branches and hanging in clumps from twisted boughs. The Elves tried not to look at them as they passed by; tried not to measure them with their eyes and wonder how large a spider would have to be to construct such a dwelling. Their pace hastened, though the ground was not much lighter by day as it was by night under Mirkwood's eaves, and to their great relief they heard no scuttling and saw no quick movements in the branches that day, or the next, or the next.

Cadhríen was beginning to lose track of how long they had been in this accursed forest when, hearing the rushing and burbling of water over rocks, they came upon a fast-flowing river, which cut a deep gully through the thick brush, tumbling down banks and forming cold, clear pools under the arches of the trees.

They had only followed it for a short time when they heard the sound of quiet steps on leaves, and the faint creaking of a bowstring being drawn.

Haldir gave a silent signal, and they drew together and took out their own weapons. But Cadhríen noticed that Celeborn did not draw his sword; he only placed his hand on its hilt and stood up tall, looking keenly in the direction of the disturbance.

"Who goes there?" came a harsh voice with a slight accent, but it was only harsh in its tone – it was a female voice, deep and clear. Astonishingly, Cadhríen could not see a trace of the figure that had spoken. There was nothing there; just shifting shades of green and brown, the colours of the forest. Her eyes roved the branches.

"The Company of Celeborn, of the Golden Wood," their leader replied, still only resting his hand lightly on his blade. "Your brethren."

At last the mysterious Elf appeared, stepping out from a tangle of ferns and brambles, where her emerald-green attire had concealed her perfectly. She was not tall, but she looked lithe and powerful. The Lórien Elves studied her with interest. A weak ray of sunlight pierced the canopy and glinted in her jewel-red hair. Her features were strange; her ears aquiline and more pointed than theirs were, her eyes large and dark, her nose and brows and cheekbones striking and prominent.

The Elf's expression softened slightly when she saw them properly and took them in: their faces pale and uncertain, their thin, grey cloaks long and flowing – and, it had to be admitted, unsuitable for travelling through dense, clawing woodland. But her mouth set grimly again as she approached them and shouldered her bow, looking Celeborn up and down with what Cadhríen considered a surprising lack of deference.

"Yes, we have been expecting you," she said, turning her rich, brown eyes on the others and assessing their weapons. "Your messenger, Amrohil, is with us."

Cadhríen felt relief flare in her chest; they were not to be imprisoned!

"But we had thought you would go east around the mountains," she continued, "and come upon us from the direction of the River Running. It is safer; there are fewer spiders that way. Why didn't you?"

The maiden's eyes glinted in the same way Mîreth's sometimes did, with the spark of youth. But there was something else in her gaze and manner, too, Cadhríen thought. Something deep down. She could not tell what it was.

"We saw goblins on the Forest Road," came Haldir's voice. He had stepped forward, and still held his bow nocked, though it was lowered. "We came north of it, and did not want to cross it again, nor to pass too close to the mountains."

The red-haired Elf appraised him, glancing down at his intricate baldric, the delicate engravings on his bow. Her own bow was simpler, rough-hewn to their eyes, and her leather jerkin was scuffed and nicked, doubtless from many forays into the forest. "Very well," she said after a moment, "then you did right. But it is not safe in these parts, where the spiders gather at night. We should make haste east – our halls are but twenty miles that way."

"We have survived thus far," replied Haldir, his voice clipped, "and have survived worse than a few spiders. We were chased by red-eyed wolves into the trees far south of here. My Lord and I saw them off."

The maiden looked amused. "Worse?" She turned and beckoned a finger above her shoulder, bidding them to follow, stepping lightly over the leafy ground and springing over fallen logs with practised ease. "Keep that opinion if you will, but know that it is wrong."

Haldir scoffed quietly, exchanging a look with Eärfin, a tall Elf with hair the colour of the evening star, who was a guard in the Lord and Lady's house in Caras Galadhon.

Cadhríen set off among the company, looking curiously at the Mirkwood Elf's green-clad back. The stranger was both familiar and unfamiliar in dress and appearance. They were clearly kin, with their pointed ears and agile movements, and their choice of weapons and soft fabrics. But in other ways they were alien to each other: their accents, their features; the Lórien Elves' grey contrasted with this maiden's green and dun. It was bewildering, and Cadhríen wondered what would await them at these so-called 'halls'. They sounded grand, though how could anything grand exist in this dank and twisted place?

At her side, Haldir was staring at the maiden's back, too, though his face was pinched and disapproving; and when Cadhríen shot him a wavering smile, which was meant to be reassuring, he returned it only reluctantly, his brows drawn together in concern.


Note: Thank you all kindly for the reviews so far. You'll be pleased to know that everyone's favourite pointy-eared princeling will finally be making an appearance next chapter...