Vocabulary
Maia—; "A Holy One'; singular of 'Maiar'
peredhil—'half-elven'
Tawarmaenas—'Forest Craft'
Vala—'The Power'; singular of 'Valar'
The day after Anomen and Baramagor departed for Lothlórien, Mithrandir led his small band of Elves away from camp. Stealthily, they made their way toward the secret entrance to Dol Guldur that the wizard had uncovered several years earlier. As they walked, Elrohir pondered the curious behavior of Tawarmaenas. After that first night outside Mithrandir's tent, for the most part the Greenwood Elf had behaved perfectly correctly, his face impassive, his voice neutral. Yet from time to time his behavior hinted at something akin to friendliness, and that puzzled Elrohir.
Elrohir could understand that, on a mission such as theirs, warriors who disliked one another might strive to put aside their differences in order to accomplish their shared goal. In such a case, it would make sense for each warrior to put on a mask so that he could collaborate with his fellows. It would also make sense, if the mask should slip, that pride and resentment would be briefly revealed.
On the other hand, in such a case it did not make sense that a slipping mask should reveal curiosity and kindness as well. But whenever Tawarmaenas' mask slipped, either friendliness or hostility seemed equally likely to be seen. A branch rolled under Elladan's feet—and Tawarmaenas reached out a hand to steady him, a look of concern on his face that vanished as quickly as it appeared. Rúmil staggered as he tried to haul a cauldron of water that they would heat for bathing their last night in camp. Tawarmaenas tried to lend a hand and, when Rúmil would have rebuffed him, he warned the Lothlórien Elf that he might strain a muscle if he tried to carry the cauldron unaided. When the Imladris and Lothlórien Elves joked and reminisced with each other, Tawarmaenas hovered nearby, as if he wished he could join in the merriment. After two days of observing Tawarmaenas' behavior, Elrohir had begun to wonder which—if any—of his faces was genuine, which the mask.
Elrohir's ruminations were interrupted when they at last neared the secret entrance into Dol Guldur.
"I will go on ahead to reconnoiter," said Mithrandir. "You stay here and look about for good places to hide your bows and quivers. You won't need them inside. Indeed, they will only hinder you as we make our way through the narrow passageway."
As he spoke, Mithrandir himself was stripping off his cloak. He rolled his hat up in it and hid the bundle in a windrow of leaves. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged horrified glances. Mithrandir had been visiting at Rivendell since they had been little elflings. They had never seen him uncloaked.
After the wizard had slipped quietly off, Elladan found his voice.
"Elrohir, Mithrandir is, is—well, he looks naked."
Wordlessly, Elrohir nodded.
"Huh," scoffed Tawarmaenas, his arrogant side showing. "He has got on his tunic and leggings. Now, if he took off those, then—"
"Let us not speak of it," interrupted Elladan, scandalized at the thought of Mithrandir sans tunic and leggings.
Tawarmaenas sneered. "You worship that old wizard. But he is only a Maia, not a Vala. But I should not be surprised—after all, you are only peredhil, half-elven. You must be easily impressed."
Elrohir and Elladan were too angry to stir. It was Thoron who launched himself at the Greenwood Elf, and it was Haldir and his brothers who restrained their furious friend.
At last Elrohir found his voice. "We may be half-elven," he hissed, "but your full-elven king didn't even have the wit to hang on to his own son."
Tawarmaenas turned white.
"Hah," gloated Elrohir to himself. "That hit home."
Several tense minutes passed. When Tawarmaenas at last spoke, it was in a soft voice.
"The prince was my cousin. With his loss, I am the only one left of the royal blood. Thranduil means to name me his heir—but I do not want that," he went on unhappily. "I am a forester. My mother knew it from my birth. That is why she named me Tawarmaenas. When I am king, however, I shall have to sit the livelong day in the audience chamber, inclining my ear to all and sundry. I will never climb another tree, I am sure. Neither my dignity nor my advisors would permit it."
He looked down sadly at the ground. Elrohir felt ashamed of his words.
"I am sorry, Tawarmaenas. I did not know that the prince was your cousin. I did not know of the burden that you bear. But perhaps—"
Elrohir paused. Elladan was looking at him apprehensively. Still, after a minute Elrohir rushed on recklessly. "The prince will come back—I am sure of it. No one ever found his body. He is—somewhere—and he shall safely return. Oh, you must trust in that, Tawarmaenas!"
Tawarmaenas stared at Elrohir, astonished at the depth of the emotion in his voice.
"You truly believe what you say!"
"Yes, I do," said Elrohir fervently.
"But how can you be so certain?" asked the Greenwood Elf.
Elrohir looked uneasy. "I—I do not know," he stammered.
Haldir studied Elrohir curiously. As Tawarmaenas had said, how could his friend be so certain? "Your grandmother is Galadriel," he mused aloud. "Perhaps, like her, you have the gift of seeing far into past, future, and present."
Elrohir seized gratefully upon that idea. "Yes! Yes, Haldir! That must be it!"
Elladan had been holding his breath, and he now allowed himself to exhale, but only a little. How could Elrohir have been so foolish!? If Tawarmaenas were to spread Elrohir's claim about, people would be thinking of the prince, looking for the prince—even expecting to come across him momentarily. Throughout Mirkwood, nay, throughout elvendom, folk would be peering eagerly into the faces of all elves of the right age, especially those with fair-hair.
Elrohir, however, felt no such concern. Once Haldir had come up with a plausible explanation for Elrohir's extraordinary assertion, he felt free to enjoy the effect that he had had on Tawarmaenas. For there was no mask on that Elf's face now, Elrohir was sure. No, Tawarmaenas' expression was genuine, if wistful—a mixture of sadness and hope. Elrohir was sorry that he had ever thought ill of him.
"He was covering up his grief and fear more than anything else," the Rivendell Elf thought to himself. "It was the arrogance that was the mask." Elrohir suddenly wondered if Tawarmaenas had that in common with his uncle the king. "I have heard it said that Thranduil is unbending and insufferably proud. Could that be a mask?" Ai! This thought set in motion a chain of reflection that made Elrohir most uncomfortable. For it was also said that Thranduil had not minded the loss of his son. "How can people be sure that the king did not suffer?" Elrohir asked himself. And once that thought occurred to Elrohir, the next one that naturally arose was this: if Elrond had given Anomen sanctuary because he thought him unloved and unwanted, then Elrond might be mistaken.
Fortunately for Elrohir, his meditations again were interrupted. They heard a slight rustle in the bushes. Mithrandir had returned, and he gestured at them to follow him. All sorrow and doubt were put aside as the young Elves fell into line behind the wizard. Silently they crept up to the hidden entrance. There they found four half-goblins sprawled upon the ground, their throats cut. The young Elves stared at the Istar, their mouths agape most inelegantly.
"Ah, admiring my handiwork, I see," said Mithrandir. "Well, well, I know I am a maia, not a vala, but I do have a few tricks up my sleeves. Even when I am not wearing them," he added.
"How does he do that!?" wondered Elrohir, feeling nervous. He wondered what else of their conversation Mithrandir was somehow privy to. As for Tawarmaenas, he looked a little frightened, too, but the wizard winked at him, and the stoic mask slid once more over the face of the Greenwood Elf, although before it did so he grinned quickly at Elrohir.
The narrow corridor twisted sharply about, so they had crawled only a little way before the light from the entrance gave out. They would have been in utter darkness had it not been for the glowing tip of Mithrandir's staff. The young Elves fixed their eyes upon that spot of brightness. The further they made their way into the subterranean passage, the more it filled with the Necromancer's eerie mist, but somehow Mithrandir's light remained as strong as ever, undimmed by the uncanny vapors.
It seemed to Elrohir that they crawled for hours. Small as he was, he was hard put to maneuver through several of the narrower spaces, and he marveled at the agility of the wizard, whose ability to squeeze through these tight spots did seem nothing short of supernatural, let alone magical. Tawarmaenas, who was just ahead of the Rivendell Elf, was similarly impressed, for at one point he whispered to him, "I think I may have been mistaken. Mayhap he is a vala after all!"
At last the passageway widened, and they came to a chamber large enough for all of them to cluster around Mithrandir.
"I will face the Necromancer. It is your task to fend off his creatures so that I may challenge him unmolested. No one is to approach the Necromancer but myself. Do you understand?"
They all nodded. The wizard looked at them well-nigh fiercely.
"Do not forget! No matter what happens, you are not to approach the Necromancer! Look around you. If anything should keep me, will you recognize this place again?"
They all looked around, memorizing the appearance of the chamber.
"If the Orcs and half-goblins begin to overwhelm you, do not wait for me. Make for this chamber straightaway and flee."
"But, Mithrandir," began Elladan.
"Silence! You will swear to me, by the Silmaril of Beren, that you will not wait for me."
"I will not swear!" declared Elladan stubbornly.
"Then you are not fit to go forward," said Mithrandir bluntly. "No warrior should throw his life away needlessly when, living, he could still be of service to his people."
Miserably, Elladan nodded and softly said, "I swear."
"And you others?"
The remaining Elves reluctantly murmured the pledge as well.
"Good. Draw your swords. It will not be long now."
Many of the Orcs and half-goblins of Dol Guldur had been ordered outside the tower to defend against the diversionary attack that had been planned to coincide with Mithrandir's secret invasion, but the fortress was by no means empty. As Mithrandir and the Elves sprang from the chamber into a large hallway, the wizard unleashed his power upon the first few creatures he encountered, but then he raced up a stairway, leaving the Elves to deal with the rest. Attracted by the crack and flash of the flame that had shot from the end of the Istar's staff, foes poured into the hallway. The Elves formed themselves into a circle.
Although the Orcs and half-goblins were many in number, by their tactics the Elves were able to deprive their foes of any advantage they may have gained from that fact. Facing outward, their backs to one another, the Elves only had to beat back a few foes at a time. Their other enemies milled about uselessly on the perimeter of the battle, almost perversely eager for their comrades to be slain because only then would they be able to attempt to satisfy their blood lust. One by one, each Orc and half-goblin fell, to be replaced by others that would also be cut down by the disciplined Elves. When their foes had all been slain, the young Elves, as they had been taught, checked to see that each was indeed dead and not merely wounded or, even worse, feigning death in order to leap up and slaughter them once their backs were turned and their guards lowered. Elrohir, however, after glancing about to see that all his comrades were safe, made for the stairs. "There may be other foes above," he thought to himself. "I must not let them assail Mithrandir and prevent him from carrying the fight to the Necromancer."
When Elrohir reached the upper landing, however, he saw no one about. Cautiously he made his way down the hallway, pushing ajar doors and peering inside chambers, his sword at the ready. Suddenly he realized that tendrils of mist were sliding past him, moving faster and faster as if recoiling into some vaporous center. It was as if the tentacles of some beast were being rapidly retracted. Elrohir followed the miasmic strands, for he intuited that at their source he would find what he sought.
He rounded a corner and there, with his back to him, stood Mithrandir, his staff upraised, filaments of vapor rushing past him to gather into one roiling, shadowy miasma.
Elrohir tried to look past Mithrandir, to catch a glimpse of whatever foe was hidden within that darkness. At first he saw nothing, only the mist. It was as if the wizard were giving battle to a cloud, forcing it back with the dazzling brilliance of his staff. But then in the midst of the swirling murkiness, Elrohir caught sight of an eye—and the eye caught sight of him. It was a red eye, lidless, flames swirling about it—swirling, swirling. Mesmerized, Elrohir was drawn by the orb. Like a sleepwalker, he took several steps toward it. He dropped his sword to his side—and something hit him, hard, on the side of the head, throwing him to the floor.
"Ow!" he cried out, his face stinging. Tawarmaenas slapped him again and drew back his hand to hit him a third time. Elrohir held up his arms. "You needn't, Tawarmaenas!"
"Good! I hurt my hand on your hard head the first and second time, and it's like to break if you make me do it again."
"Your hand or my head?"
"My hand, troll-brain! Your head is too thick to take any harm."
Tawarmaenas helped him scramble to his feet and pushed him toward the staircase, although, chastened by his near-disaster, Elrohir hardly needed any urging. He glanced back only once, and saw that Mithrandir, his staff glowing, was advancing, the mist retreating. There was no longer any sign of the eye. As he and Tawarmaenas descended the steps to rejoin the others, the hallways became filled with light that flooded in through the embrasures.
"The accurséd vapors that have surrounded and filled this tower are being driven back," said Tawarmaenas. "Mithrandir has prevailed over the Necromancer." Indeed, this was so, and outside the tower, witless and purposeless Orcs and half-goblins, deprived of the guidance of their master, ran hither and thither, falling easy victim to the Elves who methodically hunted them.
On the landing below, a relieved Elladan seized Elrohir as soon as he reappeared.
"Where were you!?"
"I went after Mithrandir."
"You troll-brain!"
"That's what I said," chortled Tawarmaenas. All joined in his merriment.
"Come," said Haldir. "Let us take shelter in the chamber until Mithrandir returns." They did not have to wait long. Soon the measured tread of the wizard was heard in the corridor outside. He stuck his head into the room and said, as casually as if he had come to pay a visit in Rivendell, "Ah, there you are; I was wondering where you had gotten yourselves to."
"Mithrandir," said Elladan eagerly, "have you slain the Necromancer?"
"I have not," Mithrandir replied cheerfully.
Once again the Elves found themselves staring with their mouths inelegantly agape.
"Really," said Mithrandir reprovingly, "Elrond must ask Erestor to review etiquette and protocol with you young ones."
Jaws snapped shut, but questions remained in their eyes.
"If this evil is as I suspect, then I could never have hoped to slay it. Not by the sword shall it perish."
"Then what," asked Haldir, bewildered, "was the purpose of this campaign?"
"To drive our foe into the open, where its true nature can be ascertained. It may be that by doing so we have set in motion a chain of events that will lead to the death of many, Elf, Dwarf, and Man. But I deem that only thus have we any hope of ultimate victory. For if we do nothing, our enemy will continue to grow in power until there is no countering it."
The Elves' glow of triumph began to fade, but Mithrandir strove to rekindle it a little.
"It is no small feat to drive an entrenched enemy from its stronghold so that it can be dealt with on more equal terms. Moreover, do not forget that through this battle we have gained some respite for Thranduil's folk. We have not cleansed Greenwood altogether—the spiders remain—but it will be a less perilous place for a little while at least."
His words could not entirely restore the Elves to their former exultation, but he did succeed in cheering them up somewhat.
"Come now. Let us leave this fortress. Although the evil has fled, it is not a pleasant place, nor will it be so for a long time to come."
The Elves willingly followed the wizard's lead, laboriously making their way back through the narrow passageway and into the sunlight. They hastened away from the base of Dol Guldur and at length came to the spot where Mithrandir had hidden his cloak and hat. He rummaged about in the leaves and pulled them forth.
"Time to get back into uniform, I suppose," he said, reassuming his mantle. "Although," he mused, "sometimes this garb is a nuisance, so heavy, always liable to get tangled on bushes. Perhaps I should adopt different apparel. What think you?" he said, turning to Elladan and Elrohir, "Mayhap I should change my style, wear something a trifle less flowing?"
"Oh, no!" chorused the twins.
"Please don't," Tawarmaenas chimed in unexpectedly. "I like your—style. Yes," he said, looking about at the other Elves. "We all like your style!"
Heads bobbed in hearty agreement. Tawarmaenas spoke for all of them.
"Very well," said Mithrandir, his face grave, but his eyes merry. "I shall continue to dress as I always have."
"Mithrandir's in his cloak—all's right with the world," sang Tawarmaenas, suddenly giddy. Everyone, even Mithrandir, laughed heartily.
"I suppose," he mused, "that I should be trying once again to impress upon you the fact that only a temporary peace is in the offering, a mere respite before the ultimate battle between good and evil. But I have heard it said by the Valar that 'sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof'. Let that be the writ for this day. Come. Strap on your quivers; let us return to camp. Your kin will be wanting to know that you are safe. All your kin," he added, turning his piercing eyes upon Elrohir.
"Yes," thought Elrohir. "It would be good if all of Tawarmaenas' kin were to know that he is safe. I shall contrive to make it so—although carefully, lest Elladan have my head! And someday," he continued to himself, "it would be good if Tawarmaenas were likewise to know that all his kin are safe!"
But that latter wish, Elrohir knew, would be much more difficult to fulfill.