IX

A council of war

Legolas kicked and twisted. He howled like a wounded animal, but Findel was too strong.

"Avalanche! Avalanche!" he kept screaming, and down at the elven camp, people started to shout.

A cloud of powder snow swept the mountain peak in white. There was a sharp, whistling sound, and the whistle became a rumble, and the rumble grew to a roar. The ground trembled. Findel lost his balance - Legolas got loose and ran and -

Hawn caught him and lifted him off the ground.

"My brother's down there! Tinu - "

"You cannot - "

The roar drowned their voices. Hawn struggled against a flood of snow; he was swept off his feet and Legolas fell under him. Snow thundered over him and there was a moment - or maybe it lasted an hour - when everything was white and loud and Legolas knew nothing else than Hawn's weight on his chest and shards of icy snow biting into his skin. He lay still and tried to breath.

Then it became quiet. The snow came to whooshing, tumbling stop.

Legolas groaned, blinked, and tried to move his arm. The snow fell off him. It was not deep, and he was not buried - when Hawn cautiously sat up, Legolas could sit up as well.

"You all right?" Hawn asked, somewhat shaken.

"Yes." Legolas was shaken too, and his head rang, and snow melted down the inside of his tunic. The powder snow slowly settled down, though it was still all white around them.

"Findel, where are you?"

"Over here!"

"How are you down there?" a ranger called from the camp. "Hawn? Findel?"

"Here, and all right!"

Hawn lifted Legolas onto his feet as if he was not any heavier than a sack of hay, then looked around for his fur hat, which lay half buried under the snow. Legolas drew a trembling breath.

"My brother", he said. "My brother, is he - "

"Don't worry", Hawn said and squinted to see through the whirling snow. "He will be... ah, elbereth."

"What?"

Hawn walked towards the plateau. Legolas half-ran behind him. He didn't understand; he couldn't see anything through the cloud of...

No, not a cloud.

It wasn't the flurries of powder snow in the air that blocked their view. It was a wall - a white wall of tightly packed snow that blocked off the whole plateau, looming higher than the trees of Greenwood. The avalanche had passed the rangers, but the cliffs sheltering the plateau was tall enough enough for all the snow to gather below them and fill the space between them and the slope completely.

Legolas ran up to the wall of snow. There was no way he could see through. He tried to climb, but even for him it was too treacherous - his hands slid through loose powder snow, lumps of ice came loose and rolled away under his feet.

He fell back on the ground, his breathing loud and shallow.

He tried again.

"It's no use", Hawn said.

The snow wall was almost as tall as the sides of the cliffs, and the stone was straight and smooth. Legolas followed it up and down, looking for somewhere to climb.

"Little one", Hawn said. "It's no use."

"My brother's there!"

Hawn caught his arm and forced him to stop. "Legolas, we don't know how stabile the snow is - or if there'll be another avalanche. We have to leave. You cannot climb over."

"Then what?"

Hawn shook his head.

Only then did Legolas become aware of how much his hands were trembling. He could not make them stop.

"It's too dark to see anything", Hawn said. "You'll stay with us tonight, and tomorrow we'll see."

"What if they're under the snow? What if they're all under the snow?"

Hawn closed his eyes for a moment. "It's too much to dig through. We would only risk our own lives."

Legolas swayed, like a candle flickering in too strong a breeze.

"Elves are quick", Hawn said. "They must have heard Findel's warnings. They had time to move, they did. I'm sure of it."

"But if I can't get back to them and they... and they can't get over to us..."

"Tomorrow", Hawn said again. "We must go now."

"That snow won't melt until spring."

Hawn looked at him as if he knew exactly how it felt. He bent down so their eyes were almost at level. "There are many ways over the Misty Mountains. They will be able to cross, sooner or later."

"If they live."

"They do. They'll live. I promise."

He took Legolas hand and led him back to the ranger's camp.

The black sword hilt lay on the table between them, like a dead rat the cat has brought inside and that no one wants to touch. Only the fox seemed not to care. She had curled up on the floor by Merilin's feet, and sometimes she broke the silence with a long sleepy yawn.

"Soo", Brand said, "it looks awfully elvish, that thing."

"So it does", said mother. "And it may well be at that, for I believe it is very old. Second Age at the least."

"Yet it was an orc who wielded it?"

Mother bowed her head yes.

"Then why - I mean, how - it was poisoned, then?"

Duneirien stifled an impatient sigh. She did not give much for long meetings. As the Hunt's Master she organized the hunters of the Mountain, but it had become more than that as the hunters reported what they heard and saw to her, and she in her turn reported to Beren. The hunters were the closest thing to scouts that Greenwood had at the moment. But Duneirien was not a warrior and definitely not a strategist, and had no patience for councils of war.

It was late; the sun had long since dragged her pale disc down below the tree-tops outside the council chamber, and they had already finished one and a half bottle of wine. Duneirien had tilted her chair back on its rear legs, mother was pacing by the fire, and Radagast seemed more interested in feeding a mouse in his pocket with nuts - though Merilin thought he listened. Few things passed the Brown Wizard unnoticed.

"No", mother said, "it cannot have been poison. It was far more powerful." She paused to search for words. "There was magic. There must have been - not only about the sword, but the whole scenario, the trees, the darkness. There was an evil force at work there, and I have felt it before."

"You mean..." Duneirien hesitated. "You mean - a remnant of the Black Land, that's what you think it is?"

Mother bowed her head again. "Yes, that is what I think. In fact, it cannot have been anything else."

There was a tense silence, and Merilin could hear her own heart pound. She glanced at father's empty chair. Everything was so wrong. She was frightened, and at the same time she could not believe that anything was true.

"What sort of a 'remnant' would it be, then?" Brand asked. "A piece of evil that has drifted on the wind to our lands?"

Mother frowned at his ill-hidden scepticism. "No, youngling, but a Man, or something like a Man, that survived the great war and is hiding in the Old Fortress. Just like the King has been saying for many a year, the Shadow is true evil, and there's a mind behind it. The darkness and the silence - it was a part of the Shadow."

Radagast looked up from his hungry mouse. "Tell me again about the sword, Gwiwileth, and how it vanished."

"Well", mother said. "It went very fast. After the orcs surrounded the King, I managed to get close enough to haul him over to my horse, and we fled. The orcs did not pursue, we were gaining the upper hand anyway, so soon after we could stop and get the King down on the ground. He was weak and feverish already then... mumbling and unable to see us. We found no severe wounds, but one in his side that felt freezing cold to the touch. One of the warriors said he had seen something, a weapon that had seemed out of place, so we went back to the place of the battle, and found that sword among others." She paused, and eyed the sword hilt as if she half expected it to speak up and tell the rest of the story. " I knew immediately as I saw it, it must be what he had seen. So I picked it up, and it - well, it was colder than anything I had ever felt. And then it simply drifted from my hands, like smoke. All but the hilt."

Silence fell again, and all their gazes turned to the hilt. The candle-light was reflected in the gem on the pommel, but it had lost its warmth and homeliness.

"Gwiwileth", Radagast said, "what do you know of the man that Thranduil believes hides in Dol Guldur?"

"Not much", mother replied. "Thranduil spoke very little of it. He used to say that he knew its presence, and that it should never have been allowed to survive. But by Yavanna's grace, I have seen such wounds as Thranduil's, and not in this Age."

The fox stirred uneasily, and Merilin looked up at her mother. "You mean..."

"The Enemy", mother said, and then, uncertainly, as if they would think she had gone mad: "Sauron."

They all fell silent. The sword hilt glared at them, laughed at their fear. Merilin could almost hear it whisper.

"However", mother said, "it is much too early to come to any conclusions. The only thing we can do is be ever cautious - and hope that Laeros will be able to tell us something."

Brand looked up, eager to change the subject. "What about the orc then? The orc that held the sword. What was he? A leader?"

"I believe he was", mother said, both reluctant and relieved to discuss more ordinary things. "He was large, unusually so, and his eyes - I remember his eyes, yellow and gleaming like those of an adder. There was intelligence in them, of that I'm certain. The orcs were all very well prepared and disciplined."

"Disciplined?" Duneirien echoed.

"Yes, disciplined. And the adder-eyed one, their leader - he took Thranduil's crown." Mother stopped by the fire, her jaw set in icy fury. "I did not realize it until later, because there was so much else going on, but he took it. And I believe it was planned. Taking the crown of Doriath - it was a challenge. A declaration, you might say, of war."

"War", Brand growled, and was quiet for a moment. "Well, if they want it, they can have it. Curse them all!"

"Cursing won't take you anywhere", said Duneirien. "Better kill them."

"I would, if my Queen allowed me to ride out and do it!"

Mother smiled sternly and clasped her hands behind her back. "Worry not, Brand, you will see your share of orc-slaying before you're even half as old as I am. The orcs must indeed be killed, but they have retreated - Duneirien, as your hunters has told me, they are no longer near the Mountain?"

"No, my Queen", Duneirien said. "They have retreated south-east, but we lost all trace of them two miles north of the Forest Road. As I've told you..."

"The Shadow, yes. The Shadow has come over the Forest Road. It is now threatening the elves living there."

"Impossible!" Brand said. "The Elvenking has always kept it at bay!"

"The Elvenking is no longer able." Mother sat down in the chair beside father's, and for a moment she looked afraid. "We cannot know how far the Shadow will come before Thranduil awakens, or if he will be able to push it back once he does. Perhaps the new border will be closer yet to the Mountain. We must be ready to defend ourselves or move. I would wish the old warriors would take up their weapons again."

"They are weary of war, my Queen", said Radagast.

"And so they will let our young ones stand alone? But we do not want war. We will flee rather than..."

"My lady", Duneirien said, "forgive me for saying so, but there are many who would rather fight than flee."

Mother glanced up at her. "And how many of them has fought before? And I mean in a battle, not some border skirmish with orcs or bandits."

"None, but..."

"Let me make one thing clear", mother said. "When I and the Elvenking were attacked, none of the guards were prepared. Few did well in the battle. We won on numbers alone. And now, Brand, how many are now boasting about how they slew orcs to the left and right, or how they long for the next battle?"

Brand shook his head. "We lost three elves, and some were wounded for life. None is boasting. They are quiet and mourning, like ghosts."

Mother looked first at Duneirien, than at the rest of her sorry little war council.

"There you have the state of the Greenwood army", she said. "And there you have the legacy of war. There is no way we can stand and fight without losing many elves - friends, comrades, loved ones. We lost too many outside the Black Lands. The warriors from the Second Age knows loss and sorrow by heart. Would you like to know it too, Duneirien? If we go to war, you will."

Duneirien was so pale Merilin thought she might faint.

"I know it already", she said, her voice so soft it was barely audible. "Tuiw... the scouts that were sent to the south."

Merilin bent down and picked the fox up, pressed it hard to her chest. The silence was so heavy she could barely breath, and all the time the sword hilt whispered.

Finally mother spoke again, this time very softly. "The elves by the Forest Road are in great danger. They may have survived on the grey border, but to the true shadow-wood we cannot leave them. Nor will it be safe for them to move, with the orcs nearby. We must ride down there and bring them to the Mountain."

"We have tried to move those elves many times, my queen", Brand said. "It won't be done. They refuse to leave their homes."

"It is more urgent now. And may not be forever, only until Thranduil is awake and the border stabile; perhaps when they know that, they will agree to move." The others looked dubious, and she went on: "There is more. Radagast, you told me the elves of the shadow-wood hold the Elven King and Queen in high regard."

Radagast nodded. "Those I passed on the way here were honoured to have had prince Tinuhen as their guest. They wanted to show him what the Shadow had done, even try to coerce him that it must be fought and not fled from. Even more, they were impressed with young Legolas, who is, as you know, more of a wood-elf than Tinuhen will ever be."

"It seems they think the Royal Family is wiser, more capable than other elves", mother said. "Or at least that we understand Greenwood the way they do. Perhaps one of us - "

Brand rose so quickly his chair clattered to the floor behind him. "My Queen, you cannot!"

"Absolutely not!" said Duneirien. "We need you - "

"More than ever - "

"You're the only one - "

"You're the Queen - "

"Peace", mother said with a smile. "I did not intend to go. Wish as I may, I cannot, for while my husband is wounded I must be in charge of the Mountain, and we need a strong defence now." Then she looked at Merilin, and tried to say something with her eyes. Merilin begun to shake her head no, but mother would not have it.

"In my stead", she said, "Merilin must go. She is much like me, and much like Legolas; the elves of the shadow-wood will listen to her."

"Mother", Merilin said, but found she could not say anything more. All the other elves had to be brave. If they could - if Nelladell could, and Taith, and sweet little Legolas - then so could she.

Mother looked at her and slowly, incredulously, Merilin raised her chin.

"You will ride into the shadow-wood", mother said, "and bring the elves there to the Mountain. Duneirien and Brand, you will take her there. You will succeed; you have to. It is their only chance."

Early on the morrow, the rangers broke camp.

Legolas sat by the burnt-out fire and watched them take down their tents and saddle their horses. He had been too restless too sleep, and now he was too tired to think. He tried to imagine how it would be if all the other elves were dead and he would have to ride back to Greenwood alone. Hethulin and Beren, and Amlûg... and Tinuhen of course. Maybe Tinuhen was angry with him for not trying harder to make them move.

I should have tried harder, he thought. I truly should have.

Arahad had sent a some men to examine the avalanche, but they had found no way over, and heard nothing from the elves. Hawn still claimed it would be all right, but Legolas could tell they feared the worst.

When it was time to leave, Findel brought him a horse - a sturdy one with a thick brown winter coat criss-crossed with narrow scars.

"Marigold is a bit old for riding", he said. "Her back is not very good, so we keep her as a pack horse, but you are not as heavy as a grown man."

"Marigold?"

"Aye. Arahad rode her when she was young. She's a war-maiden, the best you could ever have."

Marigold leaned down so Legolas reached to scratch her behind the ears. She was bigger than Amlûg and stronger-looking, though she was not very pretty, and her eyes were dark and gentle. When he ran her fingers through her mane, for the first time since the avalanche, Legolas felt a tiny spark of hope.

That day they rode over the highest point of the High Pass, under strong winds and a clear sky. The track led them up and up over rocks and ridges, sometimes with breathtaking falls to their right, sometimes with cliffs looming overhead almost creating a cave. Marigold found her footing as easily as an elf on a tree-branch. If Legolas tried to guide her, she ignored it and walked as she found best.

They came around a sharp turn and saw two horses and riders ahead of them. It was afternoon and the newcomers had the sun at their backs, but even at a distance Legolas could tell they were warriors, straight and alert. When they came closer he saw that they were elves, and strangely they looked exactly the same.

Dark-haired and wild-eyed, with swords over their shoulders and quivers strapped to their saddles, the elves watched the rangers without even a hint of a smile. Their hair was made similarly in tight warrior's braids, and they wore the same old, notched armour.

"Elladan!" Arahad said. "Elrohir. Well met."

The elves bowed their heads but said nothing. They turned their horses around and beckoned at the rangers to follow. The rangers did so.

"Who are they?" Legolas whispered.

"Lord Elrond's sons", said Findel. "Elladan and Elrohir. Don't bother to try to tell them apart. I cannot."

"Why are they so quiet?"

"Do you know about lady Celebrían?" Findel said. "The twins were crazed with their mother's death, and now they can think of nothing but vengeance. They're not wicked, but it's best to leave them alone."

Legolas rose in his stirrups and tried to catch a glimpse of the elven twins, but too many rangers were in the way. Marigold shook her head irritably as if to tell him to sit still, so he did.

"Don't you know the way to Rivendell yourselves?"

"We do, but the elves often send someone out to meet visitors. As a courtesy."

The track went up again, and though the mountainpeak was still to their left, rising further than anyone could see, ahead of them was only the sky. Higher and higher they rode until finally they could see the ground sloping down before them - and down and down and down.

They stopped on the ridge. The wind tore at their cloaks and the air felt somehow thinner than usual. Behind them in the blue distance lay the East - the grasslands of the Vale of Anduin, the vast and wild Greenwood the Great, Lake-town, Dale, Erebor.

Ahead of them - ahead of them was the West. Snowy rolling lowlands, little woods and rivers, fenced fields and winding roads - and somewhere behind it all was the Sea.

Legolas drew a deep breath. Somehow he knew that though every step of the journey had taken him away from home, this was the greatest step of all. The East would always be the East; the Wild would always be the Wild. Now he crossed the border to everything he had ever known.

And he did it all on his own.

Somehow that strengthened him. He had no way to go but forward, so there was no reason to think about what was behind him. Legolas looked over his shoulder once and then no more.

He knew, somehow, though he did not know how, that the Legolas who had left Greenwood early in November would never return to it - not quite.

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