Kitsune: I'm not even done tormenting 'poor' Gilglîr. He'll have to put up with more grief when he finally arrived in Rivendell.
Lyn: Hmm, this is the third review I've received that objects to the smoking. I'll see what I can do about making it plain that it shouldn't be romanticized.
Farflung: In some ways 'fairy tales' can be very 'realistic', especially when they are not cleaned up for the benefit of prudish adults (or adults out to popularize fairy tales for a profit—see 'Disney').
Ky/LucielHex: Yep, you're right. Should have been 'one' instead of 'own'. You stole a march on Joee! Thanks for your vigilance. Sa-ay! I like that new title: "Your Noble Highness, Queen Elf Eye."
Daw the Minstrel: I think part of Legolas wants to be discovered while the other part wants to remain hidden. He is really afraid to take the risk because he would be devastated if his fears that Thranduil doesn't want him were in fact confirmed.
Karri: Several reviewers have commented favorably on Thranduil. Thank you. Apparently his changed behavior is beginning to convince people that he may be a decent Elf after all.
Joee: There was something to correct! Ky/LucielHex found it! You two have to go head to head now! (Reviewers, start your pencils—and they're off! First spelling error goes to Joee, but, wait, is that Ky/Luciel coming up on the outside waving a subject/verb disagreement!? But Joee is fighting back with, is it, yes, it is—a sentence fragment! [And the crowd goes wild!]) ^_^
Dragonfly: Thank you. I really want Thranduil to come across as a changed Elf so that the reunion will be believable.
Vocabulary
A Elbereth Gilthoniel!—'O Star Queen, Star Kindler!' (Name and title of Varda, Queen of the Valar. Often shouted as an appeal by Elves going into battle)
Crist—'sword'
Lang—'sword'
Megil—'sword'
Magol—'sword'
Nan cîn mellyn!—'To your friends!'
Thoron's warriors were climbing ever higher as the Orcs continued to retreat before them.
"They will soon reach the summit," observed Elladan to his brother. "Do you think they will go over the ridge itself and start down the other side?"
Elrohir shook his head.
"If they do, they will be caught between our warriors and the Lothlórien patrols. I think that soon they will stand and fight."
"Elrohir is right," agreed Haldir. "Not even Orcs could be stupid enough to allow themselves to be caught between two elven forces."
"I have met some very stupid Orcs," said Elladan."
"That stupid?" huffed Elrohir.
"Well," admitted Elladan, "perhaps not that stupid."
"Then I suggest you keep your bow strung tight and your sword loose in its scabbard!"
Elrohir's advice was given none too soon. The scouts in the vanguard were showered with missiles just then and let out shouts of warning. The Elves had at last run their prey to the ground, and the Orcs, unwilling to descend the Lórien side of the mountain chain, were mounting a charge back down the Rivendell side. No doubt their half-goblin leaders hoped that the momentum of a downward charge would give them the advantage and allow them to sweep away their elven opponents. The Elves, however, quickly took shelter behind boulders. As the Orcs lumbered by, elven archers brought down many of them. The half-goblins shrieked at their soldiers to stop and come about. Now the Orcs were charging back up the slope into a withering rain of arrows.
Tactically, the Elves at first had the advantage. As was so often the case, however, the Orcs had sheer numbers in their favor. It was well known that only Men could breed anywhere near as prolifically as these orcish vermin. For all the Orcs brought down by elven missiles, many remained. These survivors crashed into the elven lines, and battle was commenced in earnest.
Several miles away, Tawarmaenas and his escort heard the distant clash of metal.
"Sword upon sword, I think," said Maegcrist to Gilglîr.
"Aye."
"Your orders, my Lord?"
Gilglîr glanced toward Gandalf, who looked back at him with piercing eyes.
The Seneschal spoke slowly.
"It may be that the combatants have naught to do with us, but we cannot be sure. Mayhap Elves are in peril hereabouts. We shall move toward the sound—but no one is to show himself until I give the word."
The Greenwood party advanced cautiously. At last they were close enough to recognize the sound of their kindred's voices.
"Elves, Gilglîr," gasped Tawarmaenas. "We must go to their aid!"
Irresolute, Gilglîr held back from giving the command. Was it not his duty to secure Tawarmaenas' safety above all others'?
It was that young Elf, however, who forced Gilglîr's hand. Drawing his sword and shouting "A Elbereth Gilthoniel!" he leapt forward before Gilglîr had a chance to stay him. Swearing some very un-elflike phrases under his breath, Gilglîr raced after him. Hard on his heels came Gandalf, Rúmil, Orophin, and all the others.
The scene that met them was a frenzied one, for the Orcs, being now held at bay, were fighting fiercely. The half-goblins among them were driving forward any of the lesser Orcs who showed signs of flagging. Several Elves had been injured and forced to withdraw to the rear. The Elves were in no immediate danger of being overrun, but the battle appeared stalemated, and the Orcs fought with such reckless hate that there was danger that the battle might turn in their favor if it went on long enough.
Into this impasse leapt Tawarmaenas and his companions. All the Megils and Magols and Crists and Langs among them now proved to have been very well named, for their flashing swords hewed through Orc bodies as if their foes were boneless. The battle did not turn in favor of the Orcs. Neither, however, did it turn in the favor of the Elves.
Dusk drew near. Both Thoron and Gilglîr knew that the Orcs would find renewed courage with the setting of the sun, and no doubt they would be joined by some of their night-crawling kin who during daytime were loath to creep from their lairs.
At about this time, Haldir was in danger of being cut off from his Rivendell companions. Seeing his peril, Thoron shouted at him to retreat.
"Nan cîn mellyn, Haldir! Make for safety!"
Haldir looked up and nodded his acknowledgement, but as he did so an Orc charged him. He managed to fend off that Orc, but a second one thrust under his guard and slashed his hand.
Haldir flinched at the pain that shot up his arm and, looking down at his hand, was momentarily distracted. An Orc sprang up behind him and raised an axe, ready to plunge it into the Elf's back. Haldir heard a sudden 'thwock'. He whirled about and confronted the Orc. Curiously, though, the Orc stared at him with vacant eyes. Slowly the creature toppled forward. Protruding from its back was an arrow—a Lothlórien arrow. Dazed, Haldir looked about him. Was he injured so badly as to be hallucinating? He had seen the Greenwood Elves enter into the fray. Now it seemed to him that cleaving their way toward him were his brothers, Rúmil and Orophin. Shaking off his dizziness, Haldir raised his own weapon and began to battle through the Orcs that stood between him and his kin.
At about the same time, the sun at last slipped below the horizon, and more Orcs now began to crawl from every crevasse. It seemed that as each one fell, two more sprang from the very soil itself. Elladan and Elrohir and all the other Elves were fighting back to back, but even so they were in danger of being swamped by the night-crawlers. The tide of the battle now did seem to be turning against the Fair Folk.
Up until this point, Gandalf had refrained from casting any spells. Instead, at the first sign of Orcs he had drawn his sword, which he wielded with a strength and agility that belied the appearance of age that he wore like a disguise. It may seem odd that the Istar was relying upon his sword rather than his staff, but only because folk nowadays misunderstand the power of wizards, which flows not only from their ability to work magic, but from eloquence coupled with wisdom. A wizard is more likely to persuade his audience than to enthrall it. Then, too, a wizard can not always be casting spells, for the practice wearies him, drawing as it does from the strength of his life force. Above all, a wizard is not in fact permitted to make full use of the power that he does have. It is not the will of the Valar that the Free Folk be gifted with Arda without struggling for it themselves. Perchance if they were, they would not fully appreciate its beauty and beneficence. No, a wizard is meant to persuade and to guide and upon occasion to assist, but, then as now, it is the Free Folk themselves who in the end have to wrest control of Middle Earth from the forces of evil.
On this occasion, however, faced with the imminent slaughter of a great many young Elves, Gandalf decided to allow some of his strength to pass into his staff and through it into Middle Earth. Suddenly the battlefield was filled with a loud roar and lit by a flash of brilliant white. The Orcs, half-goblins and night-crawlers alike, cowered in the light shed by Gandalf's staff. With a shout, the Elves sprang forward and began to slay their stupefied foes. The half-goblins were the first to recover their wits, and they tried to force their troops to fight on, but their efforts were in vain. Gandalf had released not only the power of the Valar; he had also unleashed the courage of the Elves and the corresponding cowardice of the Orcs. Soon there were no Orcs left standing, and only a very few had managed to creep back into the pits from whence they came.
The battle over, Gandalf strode rapidly toward Elrond's sons, who in their weariness were leaning against each other's backs.
"Mae govannen," gasped Elladan. "Well met indeed!"
"Yes," panted Elrohir. "Ever you come unlooked for!"
"So I have been told," said Gandalf. "Repeatedly," he added dryly.
Both Elladan and Elrohir laughed at this. Rallying his spirits, Elrohir thought to tease Gandalf about the dramatic light show that he had but lately put on.
"I doubt any of your fireworks will ever equal that explosion!"
Gandalf gave him a sharp glance from under his bristling eyebrows.
"Spoken by someone who knows more of my fireworks than he ought," the wizard growled.
Elrohir colored. Both he and Elladan did indeed know more of Gandalf's fireworks than they should, for they had once 'meddled in the affairs of wizards' quite literally by rummaging in one of the Istar's packs. They had managed to set off a spectacular fireworks display, but they had also succeeded in very nearly killing Anomen in the process.
After giving Elrohir a stern look, Gandalf turned to matters nearer at hand.
"I had best tend to the wounded," he said briskly. "You and your brother fetch water and see that fires are lit."
Thoron hastened up just then and seconded that command. He also set some Elves to dispatching wounded Orcs, others to drawing together the carcasses into a pile for burning, and yet others to gathering the necessary wood. Tawarmaenas, with Gilglîr at his side, commanded the Lothlórien Elves to likewise assist in these tasks. Gandalf meanwhile got on with the business of examining the wounded, determining who among them needed immediate aid and who could wait. Methodically he worked his way through the battlefield. Those with the worst injuries were carried nearest the fires. The others sat patiently near the edge of the rock field. Among these latter was Haldir. He did not go altogether untended, however. His brothers hovered about him. They had quickly wrapped his wounded hand to stop the bleeding and had insisted that he drink from the small bottle of miruvor that Rúmil carried.
"I am fine," protested Haldir, embarrassed at being cosseted like an elfling. His brothers were not to be denied, however. Haldir was quite relieved when at last Gandalf reached him.
"Let me see that hand," Galdalf said to Haldir. Quickly Haldir unwrapped it and held it out for the wizard's inspection.
Rúmil stared down at Haldir's injured hand. Suddenly Rúmil turned very pale, as if he had just seen a wraith or were on the verge of becoming one himself.
"Are you hurt, Rúmil?" Haldir said anxiously.
Rúmil shook his head.
"No, Haldir, I am not. Let me walk about a few minutes to gather my wits."
Rúmil went off to the side and leaned against a boulder. After a few minutes Orophin joined him.
"What is the matter, Rúmil?" asked Orophin quietly.
Rúmil raised his face, and Orophin was shocked to see that his eyes were filled with tears.
"What is it?" he said urgently.
Softly Rúmil spoke.
"I had a vision."
"Yes?"
"It was about Haldir."
"What did you see?"
"I saw his hand slashed."
Orophin was perplexed.
"Rúmil, that was no vision. His hand was cut during the battle."
His brother shook his head.
"Orophin, his hand shall be slashed yet again—and he shall die."
"Die of a hand wound? Are you sure?"
"I do not think he will die of the hand wound itself. I think that will be the first wound. There will be another, a mortal blow from a weapon wielded by an Orc."
"Shall we tell him?" worried Orophin.
"To what end," said Rúmil bitterly. "It is not something that one can guard against, no, not unless he chooses to flee Arda itself, and that he will not do. Ai! Why must I be vouchsafed a vision if I cannot use it to save my brother from his fate!?"
"Mayhap," said Orophin quietly, "you were granted this vision so that you know to cherish the days with Haldir that have been granted you. I know I shall."
Wordlessly, Rúmil looked at Orophin and nodded. Together they returned to their brother, whose hand by now had been cleaned and bandaged. Gandalf looked keenly at them. Wordlessly, Rúmil shook his head. Sighing, Gandalf nodded and moved on to look after the other injured Elves. It did not take Galadriel's Mirror to know what the young Elf had seen, the Istar thought sadly. It was not the will of the Valar that a wizard's staff should either prevent or cure all ills, but Gandalf could not help but wish on occasion that it were. This would be one of those occasions, and the wizard could not deny that there would be others.