Friends are for Such a Time as This – Part III
By Vikki
* * *
It was times such as this when discretion was the better part of valor, but for the Elves of Mirkwood, this did not make fleeing in the face of their enemy any easier.
Legolas could not see his companions, but he could hear them, faintly, in the trees. The Orcs were closer, but whether they were the same Orcs or another band he could not tell. The trees spoke of coming danger, but they fell silent when the danger was too near.
He raised his eyes when he heard the lone trill of a songbird, for it was no songbird who sang, unless one counted Encirith a songbird. The song warned of peril to the east and north, but sang of friendship to the south. Legolas put his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle of his own, saying that he had received the warning.
"We must move faster," murmured the Elf, "and we must do so with great caution."
He notched an arrow to his bow as a precaution.
* * *
"A band of Orcs, fifty strong, travels this way from the north and east of us," the scout murmured as he dipped his head in acknowledgement of his lords Elladan and Elrohir. "They are now perhaps five leagues distant, and they move fast. One might think they were pursuing something … and perhaps they are, although I know not what."
Elladan cradled his chin in his hand. "Fifty strong? That should hardly be a problem for our company, for we have the advantage of the trees."
"But we have Estel to consider," Elrohir reminded his brother. "I do not think he can stay motionless in the branches as we do; although I would remain with him, that may not be enough if too many Orcs draw near."
"If I may, Elrohir," interrupted the scout, "allow me to suggest that we go forth to meet these Orcs, and thus prevent them from ever nearing our camp."
"An excellent proposal," agreed Elladan, a grim smile upon his lips. "And you shall remain behind with Estel, Elrohir?"
Elrohir nodded to his older brother, fingering his bow restlessly. "I will ask Morereg and Novhoth to stay behind with me."
"Gather and rouse the others," Elladan directed the scout. "We shall make plans for attack. But do not wake Estel, if you can prevent it; the longer he sleeps, the better, for I fear that he will desire too strongly to face the Orcs in combat."
* * *
Estel lay in his blanket still, skillfully faking slumber as one of the Elves of the company went about rousing his companions, but behind closed eyes his young mind worked quite swiftly.
He knew his brothers loved him well, but he felt they underestimated him. He knew his skill with the bow and arrow was poor, but he was well capable with the sword-dagger he carried. However, if Elrohir got his way, Estel would never be close enough to an Orc to strike it, much less slay it. Thus, he knew that he would have to leave camp ere Elladan's attack was launched; after the majority of the Elves had left, Elrohir's full attention would be given Estel, and there would be no hope of escape.
He dared not leave until the camp was alive with activity, for he knew from experience that it was folly to underestimate the ears of the Elves, and even then Estel was prepared to use all of the covert skills his brother Elrohir had taught him to escape into the woods. For the first time on this short trip, Estel was grateful that the nature of camping required he sleep in his day-clothes.
He listened as the Elves around him awoke to the call of the scout, slinging their bows upon their backs and strapping their quivers in place. He dared to crack one eye open, and saw that the Elves had moved to gather in the far corner of the camp, glancing furtively about as they huddled near to Elldan's soft voice.
The boy flung off his covers as silently as he could, looking often toward the group of Elves in hopes that none would look in his direction. Estel quickly rolled the second layer into a small mass and flung the cover over the wadded cloth, so it appeared at a distance that he remained in his bedding. He then slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder, grasped his sword-dagger in its scabbard, and snuck towards the woods. Twice he saw Elrohir's gaze fall upon his bedding, and twice the Elf sighed quietly and turned again to his brother. Estel could not help holding his breath with fear each time. But the Elves were engrossed in their plans and the upcoming battle; they did not worry about the sleeping young Man. In minutes Estel had gained the edge of the woods, and he quickly slipped beyond the line of trees.
It was several more minutes before Estel allowed himself to breathe normally, and yet more time before he was certain he would not make too much noise strapping his scabbard to his belt buckle. But the moment that he felt the cold leather against his leg, he smiled at the still, dark woods. He was finally going forth to fight the Orcs.
* * *
Gromthak was frustrated.
He glared at his fellow Orcs with eyes full of malice, but they only returned the look, and the effect was completely lost, so he turned his gaze to the trees – the hostile trees, far too wholesome for his liking. "How many Elves are there?" he demanded.
"Only one that we've seen, but where there's one there's almost certainly others," said one Ufzag, easily the most obnoxious of the group. Or was that Bashnag? Gromthak did not particularly care, but if he did not find an Elf to kill soon, he would have to settle for one of his comrades.
"Don't you think I know that?" hissed Grimmazh.
"Who cares? One Elf, fifty Elves, kill them all!" snapped Bashnag.
"Fifty Elves? We'll all die!" cried Ufzag.
"I'll kill you all if I can't kill an Elf!" Gromthak finally screamed, "And the ruler of Dol Guldur will eat us all for his supper! Find one and cut it to pieces!"
"Cut off its nose," Bashnag exclaimed in the heat of the moment.
"And its ears!" squeaked Ufzag.
"Make it beg for death! Scream for death!" added Grimmazh enthusiastically, and from there the cries for torture degenerated into enraged rambling as the Orcs fought amongst themselves.
Gromthak could stand it no longer; he thrust his fist into the face of a smaller Orc and was silently pleased to hear its quashed nose break. "Stop speaking of it and make it happen!" he snarled, and with that the fragmented Orc band tramped off into the hateful, hostile woods.
* * *
Elrohir murmured his goodbye to his brother as Elladan leapt into the trees, the last of the departing Elves to leave the clearing. Silently he offered up a prayer to Eärendil for his brother's safekeeping; he did not think that he could stand to lose another of his family to the horrors of Orcish captivity.
Morereg clapped the younger twin on the shoulder, a gentle smile on his long, thin face. "You need not fear for Elladan, my lord. You know even better than I that he is a capable warrior, strong in combat and swift with the bow."
"I know," Elrohir replied with a smile of his own, "And I thank you for your concern. In truth, I do not know why I feel such a heaviness in my heart. I feel as if a disaster brings its doom upon us, but I do not see its methods; we are more than enough for a band of fifty Orcs!"
Novhoth looked towards were Estel lay in his bedding. "He sleeps deeply, Elrohir," he observed. "Truly the children of Men do not sleep as we do."
But Elrohir was surprised by this bit of news, and he too turned his attention to the bundled figure. "That is strange," said he, "for Estel does not sleep heavily, at least not as Men might count it. Indeed, he seems too still …"
Fear suddenly took hold of Elrohir's heart, and he leapt forth to pull the covers from the sleeping form of Estel. But inside the cover lay only a rolled up blanket.
Elrohir could hardly breathe, and he closed his eyes to keep his distress in check. "Estel," he whispered when his throat allowed him voice. "He is gone!"
* * *
Estel was becoming a little worried.
This was not the first time Estel had been in the woods, for Rivendell was surrounded with luscious trees and foliage, and many times the child had gone tramping about in the wilderness just beyond the buildings of the stronghold. However, these woods were altogether different from his longtime home; here, the birds did not sing, the wind did not stir the branches, and the sound of flowing water, ever present in Imladris from the river Bruinen, was not near. In short, it was entirely too quiet.
Estel was good at sneaking when he tried, but the crunch of fallen leaves beneath his feet seemed to echo for miles every time he took a step. Once he stepped upon a hidden branch, and when the branch snapped under his weight the sound was terrifyingly loud.
He did not know how long or how far into the woods he walked, but when he stopped, he thought that perhaps that was the better policy. If he remained perfectly silent, he could hear anyone approaching, for the woods just as silent as he. For a time he did this, not moving, not daring to move. But the longer he sat, the louder his breath grew in his ears, and his mind began to play tricks on him. A hanging vine on a crooked tree became an Orc with a whip, and Estel drew his sword with a deafening ring of metal. But the Elven blade did not glow blue, for there were no Orcs near.
It was at that moment that the boy suddenly realized that he did not know where he was, or whence he came. The fallen leaves completely hid his trail. As Estel cast about him in hopes of seeing a landmark, something he remembered, he knew that he had been paying too close attention to his ears, and not enough to his eyes. He could not seem to remember a single thing he had seen as he traveled!
With a terrified sigh the boy clutched his sword in white hands, looking wildly about him even as he tried to remain calm.
It is hard to remain level-headed when one realizes one is well and truly lost.
* * *
Airelond was the furthest south of the hunting party, as well as he could make out from the direction of the whistles sent his way. However, he was also the furthest east, and he had already felled one Orc that looked up at a poor interval. Now he crouched nervously in the top branches of a tree, one ear pressed tight to the bark. It was not that he was afraid, for Airelond had been fighting the Orcs and spiders of Mirkwood for well over a thousand years, and in that time he had more than once faced odds worse than ten to one. No, he was not nervous for the Orcs; he was nervous for the strange message of the tree in which he sat. It spoke of other travelers in the trees, faster than the wind and fierce in their intentions, but whether for ill or good it did not seem to know.
Several Orcs paused beneath the tree, and the tree grew hushed as though the Orcs could hear its words. Airelond sat as still as he could manage, but his fingers itched upon his bow. It was difficult to remember that his supply of arrows could be counted on both hands and would not soon be replenished when the Enemy presented itself so obliviously.
Thus he was greatly surprised when three arrows in quick succession flew from the trees to his right, felling all three goblins without a sound. Airelond whirled about, caring not who heard him, his bow lifted and arrow notched, for even those with mutual enemies were not always friendly.
He found himself the mirror image of another Elf.
Airelond could not stop the soft sigh that escaped his lips, and the Elf opposite him smiled grimly, relaxing his bow. "Forgive me, friend, I knew you not," he said in a hushed voice.
"Nor did I, but you should not have so surprised me," whispered Airelond, realizing that the Elf was one of the Rivendell party. "We knew that a company hailed from Imladris, and we have been moving towards you as swiftly as we might these last three hours.
"You hail from Mirkwood?" inquired the Elf.
"Indeed, I am Airelond of Mirkwood, and there are three more in my party," Airelond replied. "I fear we may have brought this trouble upon you, for the Orcs know of our presence. We had hoped for your support, for it was Encirith's assessment that your delegation was a hunting party. Our supplies are limited; we have not the tools to effectively fight a band of Orcs this size."
"Then you are in luck, Airelond of Mirkwood," smiled the Imladris Elf, "for we are more than prepared for such a battle. Join you our company? Allies are welcome, and surely you hope to put an arrow through the eye of your pursuers." He offered several arrows from his full quiver.
"Indeed I do," agreed Airelond with almost undue enthusiasm, taking the proffered arrows and notching one to his bow, even as he let out a songbird trill to relay his position.
* * *
He had been following the Orc band for nearly a day now, so desperate for food was he.
He had not precisely a consciousness; he did have an intelligence, for he knew that where there were Orcs there was often food to be found, for Orcs delighted in senseless killing and more often than not left behind delightfully large carcasses still laden with meat. He also knew that fresh meat was better, and thus killing with his own paws was often preferable to feeding of the remains left by others.
However, his need for food was more driving than the need for fresh food. His left hind leg pained him, and even trotting was a chore he found difficult. He licked at the wound whenever he could, but it did little to ease the pain and only whet his appetite for blood.
But what was this now, what was this? One of the creatures that went about on two legs, a small one, and all alone. There were many creatures that went about on two legs, but the small, thin ones (not small round ones that carried fierce, sharp axes) were the easiest to capture and kill and eat. Their meat was not all that good, but the Orcs he had followed had not left anything, and he needed to eat. Needed to eat anything.
The small one looked about with wide eyes, and he held in his hand a sharp tool, a sword, but the little one knew not how to hide. Hiding was easy for the four-legged one. It was the jumping and killing that was hard. But he had no choices now, no, he did not. He gathered himself, licked his chops once, and sprang toward the little one's nice white throat.
* * *
Author's Notes: I guess I should mention the origin of the names of some of the original characters. I use a name-generator at http://www.barrowdowns.com for all of my original names, and it asks you to put in modern names to find out 'who they are' in Middle-Earth. So, er … 'Airelond' is 'Jack'. And Encirith is 'Bob'. *laughs* Glirhuin, on the other hand, is the name of an obscure minstrel in The Silmarillion.
Sorry I didn't have a whole bunch of battles like I promised; I think this story is also going to end up being five chapters instead of just four, like I thought.
Thank you sooo much for all the reviews! I appreciate them more than you know.
::grins evilly:: Enjoy the cliffhanger … ::laughs::
~~Vikki