Karri: Thank you. I am glad you like the interaction.
Kitsune: Saruman is tricky, but he is not as wise as he thinks. That is why all his plots are frustrated in the end.
Melissa: Sorry I couldn't update quite as quickly this time. Hope you find the chapter somewhat worth the wait.
Farflung: Sorry, no Lothlórien reunion in this chapter! This is a Tawarmaenas chapter. But Legolas and company will reach Lórien in the next installment.
Arwen Undomiel: Oh, dear, you and Melissa both praise me for the speed of my updates, and then I go and take an entire week to post the next installment. *_*
Dragonfly: You're right. I wouldn't change the canon so radically as to kill off Thranduil. If this is a spoiler, so be it!
Joee: You are good! I haven't corrected that error yet, but I will.
Jebb: I had a lot of fun with that elf huddle. Glad you liked it, too.
As Legolas led the elven company north toward Lothlórien, his cousin Tawarmaenas was likewise leading a troop, but toward the south. With Gilglîr as his advisor, the young Elf was commanding the combined Greenwood and Rivendell forces that relentlessly pursued the Orcs and their warg allies. Inexperienced though he was, it did not take him long to suspect that their enemies might be leading them into a trap.
"Gilglîr, without pause they have been falling back before our advance," he worried. "Mayhap they wish to draw us into an ambush."
"Yes," Gilglîr replied calmly. "But since we know that is what they intend to do, it won't be much of an ambush, will it?"
"But, Gilglir, we will be fighting on their terms and on terrain that favors them. Is this not to be avoided?"
"How otherwise are we to confront them, Tawarmaenas? If we withdraw, they will still choose the time and the place to attack, for they will return to relying upon hit and run tactics, striking Elves who are utterly unprepared, utterly defenseless, oft-times not even warriors but craftsmen and traders. Moreover, we will not be fighting entirely upon their terms. Yes, our enemies will strike when they deem that conditions favor them, but at least we are numerous, well-armed, and, I might add, well led."
Tawarmaenas colored a little at the compliment, but of course he was very pleased. He had been greatly surprised when the Greenwood delegation had returned without Thranduil but with letters that instructed Tawarmaenas to take command and Gilglîr to second him. Gilglîr, however, had not been surprised. His earlier journey with Tawarmaenas had led the Seneschal to appreciate both the young Elf's courage and his good sense. True, he was still relatively inexperienced and would no doubt make rash judgments upon occasion, but Gilglîr would stay close and proffer needed advice. In this, he would be acting no differently than if Thranduil had been leading the Elves, for even an older Elf may require guidance from time to time.
Cautious but determined, the Elves continued to march south. Scouts preceded the vanguard but did not spread out very far in advance. Everyone knew that the Orcs were ahead of them, and not too far off. There was little that the scouts could do, and Gilglîr advised Tawarmaenas not to venture their lives in exchange for the modest advantage that they would bring.
"We do not want them cut off and slain as confirmation of the presence of an enemy whose nearness has already been proven."
Tawarmaenas agreed and the scouts drew back closer to the main body of the army. Maegcrist rode continuously between the scouts and Tawarmaenas, reporting any sign that the distance between Elves and Orcs was diminishing or that the Orcs were preparing to turn upon their pursuers. For several days he regularly arrived with to report that the Elves were indeed closing the distance between the two forces, but one day he galloped up to announce a sudden change in the situation.
"My Lord, our enemies have suddenly picked up the pace."
"A forced march?"
"Even faster than that. They run as if the whips of their masters were behind them. Shall I order that the scouts hasten forward?"
Tawarmaenas shook his head.
"No, they should hold their positions relative to the vanguard. Gilglîr," he continued, turning to the Seneschal, "have the warriors dismount and the horses sent to the rear. We will be able to mount no charges on this terrain, so the horses are likely to become hindrances rather than aids. Order likewise that the pace of the march be slowed."
"Slowed," said Maegcrist, puzzled. Gilglîr, however, looked pleased.
"Yes, Maegcrist, slowed," Tawarmaenas replied. "Let the Orcs squander their energy and will if they please. Let them scramble to take up their positions at the point they have chosen for their ambush, and then let them—wait. Yes, let their fervor drain away and their doubts grow as they wallow in their pits and expend their energy in quarrelling with one another—for that is what they do when they are left to their own devices and have no enemy to distract them."
"Yes, my Lord!"
Maegcrist bowed respectfully and hastened to carry his orders to the scouts. Gilglîr likewise bowed—his obeisance as deep as Maegcrist's—and he likewise strode off to do as he had been bidden.
For the remainder of the day, anyone happening upon the scene might have thought that the Elves were out for naught but a stroll, so slowly did they advance. Dusk drew near, and at last Tawarmaenas gave the order to make camp. Campfires were lit, and bedrolls and the other baggage of a marching army were strewn about—close enough to the circles of light cast by the fires so that they might be seen, but not so close that anyone might perceive that no one lay within the bedrolls. Silently, the Elves clustered together in the dark thickets between the well-dispersed campfires. A few Elves were chosen to move about within the camp, each showing himself briefly within the glow of a fire before moving back into the relative safety of the darkness.
A few hours before dawn, the Orcs, weary of waiting and preferring, as always, to fight at night rather than under the disapproving face of the sun, rushed howling into the camp. No one tried to prevent their advance. Bows ready, the scouts had taken to the trees and silently permitted their foes to pass underneath them. Encountering no resistance, the Orcs who stormed into the light cast by each fire fully expected to slaughter the Elves who appeared to lie sleeping there.
Instead, as the Orcs began to hack at the sacks of wool and cotton, the silent Elves concealed in the dark undergrowth let loose a storm of missiles. The Orcs' howls of bloodlust were transformed into shrieks of pain and confusion. They blundered about the camp, some seeking for foes to slay, but most looking for an escape from the arrows that seemed to fly at them from every side. A few managed to orient themselves and head back toward their lines, but most of those were cut down by the scouts hidden in the trees.
The sun arose upon a scene of horror. Twisted, blood-soaked Orc carcasses lay everywhere. Some had fallen into the campfires, and columns of stinking smoke arose from their scorched and shriveled bodies. Others seemed to have clawed at the earth in their agony, the soil gouged and clutched by death-frozen hands. Some lay with their eyes wide open, staring sightlessly up at the sun that mockingly illuminated the emptiness of their expressions. Others were sprawled open-mouthed, blood trickling from the corners of lips locked in eternal screams.
Tawarmaenas felt a little sick, and Gilglîr laid a comforting hand upon his shoulder.
"The scene might have been far otherwise. Better that death distort their bodies than those of your comrades."
"But better that death disfigure no bodies at all."
"It is unlikely," said Gilglîr dryly, "that that fact will dawn upon the Orcs, and you must therefore be prepared to face many a morning like this one."
Tawarmaenas nodded and then forced himself to once again take charge.
"Gilglîr, there were no wargs in last night's attack."
"No doubt the Orcs held them back so that their snarls would not give them away as they approached our camp. It is very hard to persuade a warg to be still, short of giving the beast your hand to chew on, something even an Orc would quail at, I think."
Tawarmaenas smiled grimly.
"Gilglîr, the wargs and their minders will surely renew the attack. Do you recommend that we hold these lines or move forward?"
"What is your judgment, Tawarmaenas?"
"That now we should drive forward with all possible speed, before our foes have a chance to regroup and reconsider their strategy."
"I could offer you no better advice than that, my Lord. Shall I convey the orders?"
"Yes, Gilglîr."
Within minutes the word was spread, and the warriors assembled into their respective patrols and began to move forward at a jog. They were preceded, as always, by Maegcrist and his scouts. Their camp must have been very close to the Orcs' hiding place, for it was not yet midmorning when the first clashes broke out between scouts and Orcs. This time the Orcs were reinforced by wargs, and it often took several arrows to bring down one of those beasts. Fortunately, the rough, wooded terrain that prevented the Elves from mounting a cavalry charge also prevented the wargs from wreaking much havoc in the elven lines. Many an Elf dodged behind a tree and thus saved himself from the onslaught of the fell beasts. Other Elves swung up out of reach just as stampeding wargs were on the verge of goring them, thus causing the surprised beasts to crash into the ground as they threw their weight into targets that were no longer there. In this manner, several Orcs were crushed by their own fallen steeds.
The scouts had been driven back to the elven lines by the initial clashes, but once there, they had joined their comrades in fiercely turning aside the repeated charges of their enemies. Inch by inch, the Elves were driving the Orcs and wargs back, killing many, wounding others, confusing the survivors. The Elves were nowhere near victory as of yet, but the Orcs no longer could believe that they had any especial advantage.
Sensing that the battle might slip from their control, the Orcs began to fight with reckless abandon. In the end, this would be good for the Elves, for in their heedlessness the Orcs exposed themselves and their wargs to elven arrows. In the short term, however, such was their frenzy that some were able to burst through the elven lines and kill and injure a few Elves who could not reach sylvan shelter in time.
One mounted Orc drove straight at Tawarmaenas, his warg seemingly impervious to the many missiles embedded in its hide. Tawarmaenas made as if to leap aside, but his foot slid on soil made slippery by blood. As he was about to be overborne by the snarling warg, Maegcrist leaped in front of him and took the blow instead. Thrown hard upon the ground, before Maegcrist could arise, the Orc had skewered him with a spear. Both Orc and warg fell then, pierced by many swords. Maegcrist, however, was dead.
In a rage, Tawarmaenas sprang forward, slashing and stabbing at any Orc unfortunate enough to stand in his way. But by doing so, he was outpacing his comrades and running the risk of being cut off. He had only gone a few yards when a strong arm wrapped itself about his waist, pulling him back, and the voice of Gilglîr recalled him to his senses.
"You will not be honoring Maegcrist's memory is you die needlessly, nor if you put other Elves in peril! Look about you! Your comrades are trying to follow your headlong charge into the midst of peril!"
Numbly, Tawarmaenas nodded, and fighting back to back Gilglîr and Tawarmaenas slowly retreated to the elven lines. By the time they had reached safety, Tawarmaenas' grief had been transformed into steely calculation.
"Magelcrist," he shouted, "that line is wavering. Take your warriors and reinforce it. Megilcrist, you send your archers up that crest, and from that vantage point cover Langcrist's swordsmen."
Coolly and methodically, Tawarmaenas barked out orders, and the tide of battle clearly began to turn in favor of the Elves. The Orcs became more and more frenzied, until their actions were purposeless, and the wargs, deprived of guidance, began to snap at their masters and one another. At last their enemies—those that survived—were in full flight, and elven archers pursued them, felling as many as they could before darkness fell and the remnants disappeared into fissures in the ground.
Tawarmaenas was left surveying the field of battle. He was the victorious general, but he did not feel like one. Maegcrist and many others had fallen. Not all the Imladris Elves would be returning to Rivendell, and the chambers of the Great Hall would miss the laughter and singing of not a few Greenwood Elves. Gilglîr approached him softly.
"There are still some orders must be given, my Lord," said Gilglîr.
Tawarmaenas raised his head wearily.
"Can you not issue them, Gilglîr?"
"I could, but I should not. This is your first major battle. You should see it through to the end."
"Very well. What remains to be done?"
"First, you should order that the injured Orcs be given a merciful passing."
"I do not wish to give that order!"
"Who are you, Tawarmaenas? Or mayhap I should say 'what' are you?"
Confused, Tawarmaenas stared at him.
"But you have said so. I am Tawarmaenas."
"Tawarmaenas the Elf or Tawarmaenas the Orc?"
"I do not understand.'
The Orcs have killed your friend. Do not permit them to kill you and leave a soulless fiend in your place."
"I-I am uninjured."
"In your body, yes. But there are many ways to die, and not all of them involve injury to one's body. Do you understand?"
"Ye-es, I think I do. Did not my uncle come close to dying in that fashion?"
"Aye, very close. Some would say that he did die and that his soul has but lately returned to his body."
Tawarmaenas nodded his understanding. He took a deep breath and turned to address Langcrist.
"Langcrist, set your warriors to checking each Orc body. Quickly slay those who still breathe. Once you are sure of all of them, have the carcasses heaped together for burning."
Langcrist bowed.
"Yes, my Lord."
Tawarmaenaes looked at Gilglîr, who nodded encouragingly. The young Elf resumed giving orders.
"Magelcrist, we need much wood, both for funeral pyres and to build campfires to heat water for our wounded. See to it."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Magilcrist, see that our dead are gathered together, their bodies cleansed of all Orc filth, and an honor guard set in place about them."
Magilcrist bowed and hastened off to see that these tasks were accomplished.
Gilglîr nodded approvingly.
"Thranduil will be proud of you."
At the mention of Thranduil, Tawarmaenas could not forbear asking a question that the exigencies of war had driven from his mind but which now returned in full force.
"Gilglîr, why did my uncle suddenly decide to remain at Rivendell? His letter instructed me to take charge, but without giving a reason for the abrupt change in plans."
Thranduil's letter to Gilglîr letter had been a little more informative, but, as Thranduil had not seen fit to tell Tawarmaenas about his encounter in a garden with a mysterious golden-haired Elf, Gilglîr did not feel at liberty to enlighten him.
"No doubt all shall be made plain upon your kinsman's return, Tawarmaenas. I suspect that this event shall take place shortly. And when it does, I am sure that he will be grateful for the lengths to which you have gone to secure the realm for him."
Gilglîr had been careful to speak of Tawarmaenas's 'kinsman' rather than his 'uncle'. Tired from the battle, Tawarmaenas did not notice the Seneschal's use of the general rather than the specific term. To him, Gilglîr's choice of language signified nothing. Gilglîr, however, suspected that the day would soon arrive when that choice of language would signify everything.