Beta reader: Dragonfly the Dauntless.
Karri: Tolkien provides virtually everyone with a past and a genealogy except for Gandalf. Well, 'nature abhors a vacuum', and so do writers of fanfiction.
Dragonfly: Yes, the Gríma clan does seem to be multiplying. Maybe they are distant kin of Agent Smith.
Joee: That would be an interesting Family Feud episode: the Gríma clan against the Halbarad family. Oops, I feel a parody coming on. Joee, you've got to stop doing this to me!
Kelly Kragen: Yes, Gríma was doing something to the wine. If I know Gríma, he was probably adding something that would make Gandalf sick enough for Fengel to decide that he needed to be sent to Isengard after all. Then, while Gandalf lies in a delirium, Saruman could question him to find out what was making him so interested in the Shire. Hmm, note to author: possible chapter. Deposit a sick and helpless Gandalf in the tower of Orthanc. Darn! I swear that those plot bunnies are at least as prolific as Gríma, Halbarad, and Agent Smith combined.
Chapter 22: To Save A Friend
Gilglîr insisted that the company of Mirkwood Elves return to the Great Hall at a full gallop, hard as that was upon the horses. True, Legolas had not sensed danger until they had reached the place at which they had been attacked, but Gilglîr wished to take no chances. The unthinkable had happened: Elves had turned traitor and tried to assassinate their prince. Now Gilglîr had to consider the possibility that more treachery might be in the offing and another attempt would be made to murder the young Elf. It was all too likely that Dûredhel would not have expended all his forces at one throw. Of course, Gilglîr mused, if this were so, then even the Great Hall might be a perilous place for Legolas. What was there to stop an enemy Elf, indistinguishable from his peers, from attempting to murder the Prince within the walls of his own bedchamber? His very food would now be suspect, for someone might try to poison him. The extent of the conspiracy was unknown, and until it was, extraordinary steps would have to be taken to safeguard the prince.
Gilglîr was right in the main: not all their enemies had participated in the attack. The next blow, however, would not be aimed directly at Legolas. It was the Imladris Elves who would bear the brunt of the second assault.
Elrond and Glorfindel, too, had been mindful of the possibility that not all their foes had taken part in the first attack, and they set about establishing a defensive perimeter.
"Put all the wounded in the center," ordered Glorfindel. "You eight Elves there, up into the trees at regular intervals. Keep a sharp eye out for anything that approaches, even if only a squirrel or a crow. More than Elves may have turned traitor."
It was not long before one of the lookouts had something to report—but it was neither a squirrel nor a crow that drew near.
"My Lords," an Elf called softly, "to the west march many Orcs."
"Are they coming this way?" asked Elrond.
"Yes, my Lord," the Elf replied. "Directly this way. They move purposefully. I think they know that we are here."
Elrond nodded. He was not surprised. Clearly the traitor Elves had been in communication with dark forces. It was not Dûredhel's ambition alone that accounted for the conspiracy. Likely he was no more than a tool subverted by promises of riches and power. While these held little appeal for most Elves, the ring that Dûredhel had borne may have exaggerated any slight inclination he had toward amassing these material things. And the ring could only have had such an effect if a powerful spell had been set upon it at the time of its making. Who but the Dark Lord would have the knowledge or skill to have accomplished this?
There was as yet no sign of any foes to the north, south, or east, so Glorfindel ordered all Elves but the lookouts to assemble to the west, thus creating a wall of warriors between the wounded and the oncoming Orcs. The lookouts estimated that the enemy numbered in the hundreds. Glorfindel and Elrond knew that their small force would be hard put to hold off such a large number of reckless Orcs who would be heedless of their own safety, but they were resolutely determined to do their best. If matters seemed hopeless, they would indeed abandon their positions, for they had the safety of their own Elves to think about, as well as that of Estel, last surviving descendant of Isildur and the hope of the West.
On the Orcs marched without swerving, trampling the vegetation as they came. They carried only scimitars, and Elrond and Glorfindel knew that they planned to overwhelm the Elves by their sheer numbers, not even bothering to first mount an assault by bow that might have spared some of their carcasses. So much did their evil commander care for the lives of his underlings, Elrond thought grimly. His own bowmen stood at the ready, awaiting a signal from Glorfindel. As the ranks of the Orcs came within range, the balrog-slayer ordered that the first volley be let loose. Orcs in the first row stumbled and fell, but their fellows, not deterred in the least, clambered over their dead and the dying comrades. A second volley was released, and a third, but still the Orcs advanced, so depraved as to be indifferent to their own lives, let alone those of their companions. The Elves prepared for hand to hand combat, and the Orcs crashed into their lines.
The first wave of Orcs pushed the Elves back several feel, but so determined and resolute were the Fair Folk that they managed to regain that ground almost immediately. Their foes were relatively well trained as Orcs go but still were no match for the discipline and skill of the Elves. One Elf was more than a match for two Orcs.
Unfortunately, however, the goblins had more than a two to one advantage over their opponents. Several Elves were injured and had to withdraw from the fight. They were not replaced. For every Orc that fell, though, it seemed as if three or four sprung up in its place. Little by little, the Imladris Elves were forced to fall back. As they did so, they were barely able to drag their own wounded to safety. As for the injured Mirkwood Elves, there could be no thought of bearing them away. Such Rivendell Elves as were not already carrying injured companions were serving as a rear guard to cover their retreat.
Step by step the Imladris Elves were pushed toward the east. Behind them they could hear wails and screams that did not come from the mouths of Orcs. Long did they hear those sounds in their dreams.
Suddenly, the pursuing Orcs gave off pressing them and withdrew. The woods fell silent. Not a scream did they hear. Not a moan. Glorfindel and Elrond regrouped their forces into a tight circle and then, taking a few scouts, slowly stole back toward the campsite. They were met by a horrifying sight.
Every single one of the wounded Greenwood Elves had been slaughtered. Dûredhel, their erstwhile leader, had been slain with particular brutality, hewn with many strokes, his head struck from his shoulders. Shocked and grieving, the Imladris Elves stood silently looking upon the butchered Elves.
"I think," said Elrond at last, "that our surmises about the rings were correct. Once the power of the rings had worn off, the Elves would have spoken and revealed the source of this treachery. Someone did not wish this to happen, and so Orcs were sent to slay the survivors. Dûredhel, was, I deem, no more than a tool in the hands of someone more powerful."
"Sauron, no doubt," growled Glorfindel.
"I do not know," said Elrond thoughtfully. "It would hardly be necessary for Sauron to hide his perfidious nature, for this we already know."
"Then the Dark Lord must have an ally still surviving amongst Thranduil's Elves, and that fact he would hide."
"Perhaps," said Elrond noncommittally. "Or mayhap there is something else at work here."
Just then Elrohir and Elladan hurried up. They had gone to check on the horses, which had been left behind during the retreat.
"Ada," said Elladan breathlessly. "The packhorse is missing, the one bearing the bundle that contains the rings."
"Are any other horses missing?"
"No, Ada," answered Elrohir, "only that one."
"'Tis good we divided the rings betwixt ourselves and the Mirkwood Elves," observed Glorfindel.
"True," said Elrond, "but I pray that Legolas and his company were not attacked so that the remainder might be stolen away by our enemies. He did not sense any danger until we reached this spot, so it is to be hoped that no foes stand between him and the Great Hall. Still, enemies could have moved in after we passed by. We will know shortly, however, for it should not take long for Legolas to attain the Hall and for a relief column to be sent out. If no help reaches us by dawn, we shall have to consider what to do. Until then, let us tend to our wounded."
Elrond and the others returned to where the rest of the Elves awaited them. To his dismay, as he o'erlooked the company, he realized that Erestor lay prone upon the ground, Estel kneeling next to him. Elrond hastened to him, cold fingers of fear clutching at his heart. As he drew near, he saw with alarm that Erestor's eyes were open but unfocused. To Elrond's relief, however, as he knelt beside Erestor, his friend stirred and his eyes came into focus, albeit he still looked a little dazed. It was Estel who had to explain what happened.
"An enormous Orc came after me with a club, but Erestor leaped between me and the brute. The club hit Erestor on the side of the head and knocked him out."
"And then?" said Elrond.
"Well," said Estel modestly, "when the Orc bent over to finish off Erestor with a knife, I leapt unto his back and cut his throat. There he lies yonder."
Sure enough, off to the side lay a dead Orc, a gaping wound in his neck.
Elrond nodded approvingly.
"Good work, the two of you. Now let me tend to you, Erestor."
"Don't worry about me," said Erestor. "'Tis only a little bump on the head. Look to the others who are injured more seriously."
"I'll take care of him," Estel offered. To Elrond's surprise, the young human drew forth a pouch and opened it to reveal several carefully preserved athelas leaves. "I know what to do," the youth told the Lord of Imladris. "I have been watching you carefully, for a warrior must be a healer, to safeguard both himself and his companions."
Impressed, Elrond left Erestor in Estel's hands. As he moved off to treat more seriously wounded Elves, he resolved to add formal lessons in the healing arts to Estel's training. "Estel is right," he said to himself. "I have hitherto neglected his education in this area, but henceforth he will indeed be trained as both a healer and a warrior."
Shortly before dawn the Imladris Elves, weary from tending the wounded and gathering the dead, at last heard the sound of hoofbeats. They were expecting a relief column, but they nonetheless immediately moved into defensive positions in case more treachery was in the offing. Fortunately, the scouts on point soon saw that Gilglîr rode at the head of the approaching warriors, and the Rivendell Elves were ordered to stand down by a relieved Elrond.
As he rode into the camp, Gilglîr saw at once that the Elves had been subject to a second attack. When he had departed, only a few of the Imladris Elves had been wounded, and those only lightly. Now he saw that several were injured, and those more severely. Anxiety upon his face, he dismounted, but Elrond stayed him before he could express his concern over the well-being of the Rivendell Elves. "I am sorry, Gilglîr," said the Lord of Imladris, his head bowed with grief and shame. "There are no Greenwood Elves to be restored to the arms of their kin. We were forced back by a large company of Orcs, and by the time we recovered the camp, each and every one of the injured Elves had been slain. Indeed, we suspect that this was the reason for the attack—to do away with the survivors in order to stop their mouths."
Stunned, Gilglîr could not speak for several minutes. He had brought not only horses and Elves but also litters on which the wounded might be borne back to the Great Hall. The litters would now be of use only as biers to transport the dead with dignity.
When at last Gilglîr did recover his voice, he laid a comforting hand upon Elrond's arm.
"You did what you could, mellon-nîn. Do not blame yourself for their deaths. I see from the injuries your own warriors have suffered that you held out for as long as possible. Sorrow not. The dead forfeited their lives when they became traitors; you could not be expected to sacrifice yourselves for them—and a vain sacrifice it would have been, too. Better that you and yours should live than that all should die together, both the guilty and the innocent."
Elrond nodded gratefully. Gilglîr saw that he and all the other Rivendell Elves were sad and weary, and he took charge, commanding them to rest and setting his own Elves to fetching wood and water and doing all else that was needful. The Rivendell Elves slept through that day and the night that followed. The next morning, Elrond, Glorfindel, and Gilglîr gathered to decide what was best to be done.
"You would be welcome to return with us to the Great Hall," Gilglîr offered, "so that your wounded may recuperate."
Elrond thanked him but declined the offer.
"I have checked on each warrior. There is none so badly injured that he cannot ride, albeit at a slow pace, and all are anxious to return home. We have been gone many months now."
"I understand," said Gilglîr. "In that case, my warriors and I will escort you until you are safe upon the plain, where no enemy force can come upon you without your perceiving them from a great distance."
"Thank you," said Glorfindel, his relief unmistakable.
"But what of your dead?" asked Elrond. "You will not leave them unguarded?"
"Safeguarding the living is of much greater import," replied Gilglîr grimly. "We will pile brush over the bodies of the Elves to discourage the birds at least. Moreover, the heap of Orc bodies is very large—perhaps enough so that other scavengers will be attracted to their carcasses alone and not seek for other carrion. Then, on our return, we will retrieve the remains of our dead and convey them to the Hall. This is the best that their kinsmen can hope for."
"Would that it were not so," said Elrond sadly. "In all my long years, never have we left our dead to the mercy of scavengers."
"I think," said Gilglîr, "that we are coming into a time when we will have to perform many deeds that have been hitherto inconceivable. The Enemy will press us hard, and we will have neither the time nor the strength to adhere to many of our cherished customs."
"I am afraid Gilglîr is right," said Glorfindel later as he rode by Elrond toward the border of Mirkwood. "Henceforth we must judge our actions by whether or not they secure the safety of the living—aye, and there may even come a day when we will have to abandon our own wounded as we abandoned Gilglîr's."
"No," said Elrond firmly. "That I will never do. Not if there is another way."
"Another way?"
"Aye. Rather than leave them for the cruel entertainment of our enemies, I would slay them myself. I would rather be burdened with their blood upon my hands than with the knowledge that I left them to suffer at the hands of Orcs or other fell beasts."
Glorfindel gazed intently at his friend.
"I am glad to hear you say that, mellon-nîn. For if I should lie injured too badly to make my way to safety, I would welcome death at your hands as a last gesture of friendship."
"And I from you."
The two friends rode on, each hoping that he would not be forced to perform that office on behalf of the other but each also secure in the knowledge that should he himself require such a merciful release, his friend would vouchsafe it to him. Such was the strength of their friendship that either would have been grateful to have died at the hands of the other.
It may seem odd to us, so far from the end of the Third Age, that Elves should take comfort in such a pact, but is a measure of the evil that they confronted in those days. Such are the hard choices one must make when one's foes lack even the slightest shred of pity and honor. Not to give up pity and honor oneself, but to exercise it in such a way as to take on a sorrow and a guilt that can never be expiated. For that is the burden one assumes by becoming a slayer of kin and of friend in order to save them from a worse fate. The Valar be praised that neither Elrond nor Glorfindel was forced to act so on behalf on the other; the Valar also be praised that both would have been willing.