XX
Turning points
"My prince!" Maidh yelled. "What are you doing?"
Tinuhen drew his sword and pulled the shield from his back. He knew what he must do. The elves could not fight properly in the Stair, but they would never reach open ground before the goblins caught up with them - unless someone kept them at bay. The Stair was narrow enough that for a little while, Tinuhen figured, one person would be enough for just that.
He was last.
"My prince - "
"You go on, Maidh", Tinuhen said, without turning. "Hethulin! You are in charge. Get the elves to open ground, set up a shield-wall at the bottom of the Stair and wait for me there. I can hold this ground for a few minutes. Retreat!" he called over his shoulder, and the line of riders set in motion again, the wagon creaking and protesting at their head. Hethulin urged them on, Tulus taking charge at the back of the line. His heart racing, Tinuhen dismounted. Maidh lingered behind.
"Let me - "
"There is only room for one of us", Tinuhen said and fixed his eyes on the goblins. Through the whirling snow he could see them watching him, but there were only half a dozen of them yet. "I will manage. Go, Maidh, it is an order!"
Maidh hesitated, but he was too frightened to stay. Tinuhen could not blame him. He did not want to stand here either, alone in the dark, facing Eru knew how many goblins. He weighed the sword in his hand, tried to get a better grip. Behind him he could hear the elves disappearing down the Stair. His horse lifted her head and whinnied anxiously after them.
"Stay with me, girl, just a while. We will be off soon."
The goblins stood still some twenty steps away, mere shadows in the snow dust. More were coming up behind them until there was nothing but a dark mass of bodies, still waiting. Tinuhen licked his lips. He could run. He could still run.
The horse bolted, dashing after the others. No escape now.
Still they waited, measuring each other up and down. The goblins were doubtlessly wondering if it was a ruse, if the others would be hiding just behind the bend of the Stair. The wait was unbearable and necessary - none wanted to attack first, none wanted to be taken unawares, but the longer it took the more time did Hethulin have to get back to open ground. Still Tinuhen wavered. He couldn't take it any longer, the wait - he was going to attack - he'd just charge into them and -
A bowstring sang and Tinuhen ducked behind his shield, crouching low. Arrows thudded into his shield, rattling on the iron edge, one hitting the snow beside his right foot. He didn't have to look up to know the goblin's were charging - he heard them, but remained crouched and seemingly unaware, listening for their heavy footsteps - counting five, seven, ten before they were upon him. Yelling he flew up, ramming his shield into the foremost goblin, then thrusting his sword into its unprotected neck. The goblin sputtered, blood bubbling up between its lips, and fell backwards into the others. Tinuhen jerked his sword loose. He caught a glimmer of amber eyes before a second goblin leapt over the first, barreling into him.
Shield against shield they struggled, Tinuhen the stronger, the goblin backed up by the mass of others pressing on behind him. But the force of the others was dangerous in itself. When Tinuhen unexpectedly took a step back, the goblin fell forward, baring the nape of its neck,and Tinuhen thrust down. His blade cut through thick skin and muscles, dug into sinews and veins. He backed once more, stepping clear of the goblin before two others pushed forward, warier than the first two. The first he brought down quickly, pushing it backwards in the way of those behind it. The second came at him with more care. They feinted and parried, locking swords. A scimitar from the side struck Tinuhen's shield so hard he felt it all the way up to his shoulder, and he staggered down another step, slashing out, hitting metal, pulling back just in time to block another blow. He had lost all sense of time, but he knew that the Stair was widening, and if he backed too far he would have goblins on all sides. He brought one down, gave another a deep gash across the belly, and the snow was slippery wet with blood.
The Stair betrayed him. When he set foot on the edge of a step it cracked, a portion of it giving way, and he stumbled, flinging his shield out to regain his balance. A sword bounced off his leather cuirass - another found the slit in the side and dug upward, cold steel tearing through cloth and skin and biting into his abdomen.
Tinuhen gasped - he would have screamed if he had had enough air - stumbled backwards. Blood gushed warm and steaming into the snow. Blindly he struck, then backed again, then struck, pain flaring through the wound in his side. He raised his shield again, but his body was too weak, and when a sword rang against the iron edge he wavered, then fell to his knees. He raised the shield again and it was all he could do not hold it up and let the swords thunder upon it. The wood cracked. He was dizzy. The goblins laughed at him.
And then they laughed no more. A bow sang, arrows whistled, and there was the sound of hooves on the stone steps.
"To your feet, my prince!" Hethulin cried, and when Tinuhen did not obey fast enough she reached down and grabbed his arm. "Mount, mount!"
Somehow holding on to both sword and shield, Tinuhen hauled himself up behind her and she turned her horse around, kicking it into a gallop down the Stair. Arrows flew around their heads and the goblins charged again, yelling after them, but they had no chance to catch up and soon gave up the chase to regroup. Hethulin leaned over her horse's neck and Tinuhen to her back. They came around the last bend and found the other elves waiting in tight lines - half with their swords and shields at the ready, half with arrows nocked and drawn. The shield-wall split to let them through, and they were out.
"Ready the wagon! Naru, how's the fire going?"
Tinuhen watched in disbelief as the elves pushed the emptied wagon in front of the entrance, blocking it almost completely. Naru sat behind the archers and threw the boards of a smashed barrel onto his growing fire. The archers had tied rolls of fabric to the tip of their arrows.
"Since when do we have fire arrows?"
"Since you left me in charge", Hethulin said. She swung one leg over the side of her horse and jumped to the ground, then turned to ease Tinuhen down. Laeros, pale and shivering, took her horse and led it away to the others, then sunk to the ground there with his head hanging down, as if he meant to wait passively for whatever would come his way.
Pressing his sword-arm to his side, Tinuhen limped over to the shield-wall and took his place at one end of it, leaving the archers to Hethulin. The plan, simple as it was, was clear to him. Standing six elves in breadth, there weren't more of them than to make two lines behind each other, and they had never truly fought in a shield-wall, only practised it. Tulus perched on the back of the wagon keeping watch over the Stair. Side by side, their breath steaming in the night air, the elves waited.
"Here they come!"
Hethulin looked up. "Ready your arrows! Naru!"
"Shields up!" Tinuhen commanded. "Protect the archers! Be ready!"
Half the sword-elves flung their shields up over their heads to cover the archers, the other half leaning forward, ready to hold the wagon back when the goblins came. Naru grabbed two burning branches and went from archer to archer to set their arrows ablaze. This time it wasn't just the sound of their feet that could be heard, but the unearthly howls and maddened laughter as the goblins welled down the Stair.
"How many are they?" Maidh asked, his voice high-pitched. "My prince?"
"Enough for all of us", Tinuhen said. Truth was, because of the snow and the twisting stair, he had no idea. "Be prepared."
"They're here!" Tulus yelled, ducking behind the wagon. Hethulin answered him: "Fire!"
The arrows flew high, bright arches of flaming red that lit up the walls of the Stair. Behind the wagon howls turned to screams and laughter to curses. Salve after salve of regular arrows followed the first while half the archers prepared new fire arrows. The flames leapt into the air - clothes and bodies must be on fire. The worst of the tide had been stemmed, but the next salve thudded on shields, and the first goblins were closing in on the wagon.
"Ready!" Tinuhen cried, putting his shoulder to the side of the wagon. "Hold your ground!"
Urged on by the fire behind them and their desire to see the battle over quickly, the goblins ran headfirst into the wagon, ramming it so hard it nearly toppled. The elves pushing on the other side were sent stumbling backwards, and though they quickly took up their posts again they had lost important inches. There was no second blow, just a steady march that slowly pushed the wagon their way.
"Spread out!" Tinuhen shouted when it became clear the wagon was lost. "Hethulin - set it on fire!"
One last fire arrow settled in the hay that had been left inside the wagon, and it burst into flames, vicious and blinding, giving the sword-elves the time they needed to reform their shield-wall for the next onslaught. Tinuhen raised his shield. The movement hurt - so much, and so unexpectedly, he felt faint. He realised coldly he would not be able to fight. For a moment he saw stars.
They locked shields. There was a clatter of steel on steel as each elf knocked their shield against the one beside them, making sure they touched and would not be breached by the first strike. They crouched as one, steeling themselves for the tidal wave of rage and muscle strength heading their way. Pushing the burning wagon out of the way, the goblins howled, triumphant now. Tinuhen threw his head back and screamed.
The goblins slammed into the elves, ramming their shields, sending them staggering backwards, and their lines wavered. The force took the breath out of them. Arrows flew over their heads and took a few goblins; they brought some down of their own, slashing blindly with their swords, but light-weight Tulus was a weak point on one side and Tinuhen an ever weaker point on the other. Then as one they pushed back with all their strength. Pressed on by those behind them, the front goblins could not back for another such attack, but the force of the first one had been devastating. More arrows fell, but the main attack was down on the struggle shield on shield, and the elves were losing. Nearest the wagon, Tulus was forced backwards - a dagger took him in the knee, and he was down, the archers pulling him out of the way before the goblins surged through.
"Watch your backs!" Tinuhen cried. "They're going to outflank us!"
The rest was chaos. In mere seconds the shield-wall broke into scattered groups fighting back to back, the archers drawing daggers or short-swords to join in, the goblins pouring out until they were all around. Tinuhen had Maidh and another sword-elf beside him and for a while that was all he knew. His arms were heavy, his movements slow, and he was losing. It was dark, his head filled with a soft whirring sound as is from a thousand wings beating at the same time.
"The healers! Stop them!"
Tinuhen turned around, in time to see half a dozen goblins break free of the fighting and head for the trees across the clearing. The healers were hiding there with Beren laying on a blanket, but the goblins had seen them. Roaring Tinuhen hunted after them, but a shield struck him on the side of his head and everything spun. He saw Maidh and a couple of others rush past him, saw one of the healers struck to her knees and knew that they had lost - but it was darkening, darkening so swiftly. The sound of wings was loud in his head, and he thought he heard the howl of wolves and the roar of a bear in the thickening darkness.
The world tipped to the side. Elves and goblins and horses spun around and disappeared; he lay staring at a sky so dark only slivers of the moon was visible behind the sea of black wings. An eagle swooped down, tearing at a goblin's face. A hawk came flying, clawing where the eagle left off. A bear leapt over Tinuhen where he lay and he heard no scream, just a whimper and the crack of crushed bones as another goblin fell. Hethulin was screaming something -
"Radagast! Radagast is here!"
Radagast. So he had come at last. The goblins were shouting and cursing, birds were shrieking, bats whirred over Tinuhen's head on black leathery wings. The moon came back in glimpses and flashes as the cloud of wings and feathers above him shifted. Tinuhen's mind drifted.
"Here - can you drink?"
"Whaa - "
"Drink", Hethulin said, gently lifting his head. Tinuhen was utterly confused. He'd not been laying under trees a moment ago.
"How long - "
"That was an order."
"Outrageous", Tinuhen muttered and drank. The water was cold and clear and tinged with something that parted the mists of his mind. The pain returned, but it was bearable now. When he moved, he felt the tear of fresh stitches under the tight bandages.
"Are you alright, Hethulin?"
"I am, my prince."
Someone coughed. Tinuhen gathered strength for a moment, then sat up. The birds were gone, expects those few who lay dead on the battle field, and the bats and the bear and the wolves. A dozen elves sat under the trees, silhouetted against the fire, slumped and still, and the healers - both of them still alive, though one limping badly - moved between them. The rest were out in the open making a pile of goblin bodies by the burnt-out wagon to block the Stair once more. Radagast stood a bit away, deep in thought. It was so quiet. Too quiet.
"Did someone..."
"You should rest, my prince."
"Hethulin."
Her voice shivered. "We... we think they were after Laeros. That they wanted to kill him for what he could tell about Dol Guldur - that's what all this is, isn't it? About Dol Guldur and that secret meeting. Radagast said so too."
"I believe you. But what..."
"Oh, Tinuhen..." She turned to him, her eyes filled with tears. "They thought Laeros was with the healers. That's why they headed for them. They shot Beren, Tinuhen. He's dead."
The first elves arrived at night, when it was so dark the light of their torches blinded the elves of Ninniach's settlement. Merilin stood at the gate in the wooden palisade and watched them approach, some thirty-five elves armed with spears and bows, and two children riding a pack horse. After that, more came every day.
The elves of the shadow-wood were different from how she'd imagined elves could ever be. Pale and dark-eyed, they spoke little and laughed less, but when they did their voices were as clear as mountain springs, and the withering trees savoured their presence like they savoured every ray of diminished sunlight. They wore clothes of wool, fur and leather, mostly uncoloured and adorned with simple embroideries and feathers, and the elves of the Mountain in their well-made mail and leather brigandines looked like lords and ladies compared to them. The Mountain elves kept to themselves, wavering between remorse for their people that had fallen so low, and an undecided guilt for something they could not help - to have been born in luxury and not even known it.
At the day of the council, some two days, Merilin thought, before Midwinter, they came together around a large fire - the elves of the shadow-wood on one side, the Mountain elves on the other - in the clearing where once the old hall had stood. It was an ominous place, all in ruins, but practical and relatively easy to defend. The orcs that had attacked the Elvenking were still somewhere in the forest, biding their time or planning something. They had little choice but to be practical.
All morning they talked back and forth and came nowhere. The elves of the shadow-wood were not truly interested in arguing - they had come to hold their own council, to discuss the sudden growth of the Shadow and how to best protect themselves against it, not to listen to these foreign elves talking about mountain halls and moving out. Though they still saw the Elven King and Queen as their sovereigns, they had nothing in common with Merilin and her elves - quiet as the trees, unyielding as the deepest of roots, they had not only survived in the shadow-wood; they had become a part of it.
"We know the Shadow", said an elf with long jet-black braids and twined his fingers together. "We know all its dangers. We have stayed before, and we will stay now."
"You keep claiming that", said Brand impatiently, "but you don't know this new danger."
"Neither do you."
"Perhaps not, but I saw what it did to the Elvenking. The Elvenking! If he could not withstand it..."
"The scouts should not have gone so close to the fortress", said Ninniach calmly. "They disturbed things that should have been left alone."
And so we are back where we begun, Merilin thought wearily. The Mountain elves were running out of arguments, and the elves of the shadow-wood had not yielded one bit. She could not blame them. She remembered the move north after their hall had been burnt down, the hopelessness and the fear and the hardships they had faced, and the question that no one dared to say aloud but that burned in everyone's eyes: how long till we must move again? And how long would it be, she thought, before they had to leave the Mountain? It was safer than any other place they had lived in, but it would matter little in the long run. They would not stay holed up in a cave when the land outside became inhabitable - they needed to hunt somehow, and gather fire-wood and trade with the men of Dale. But if they kept moving, again and again, just like they had before - eventually they would end up in the northern marches, eating worms and frogs to survive. Moving, Merilin thought, was only delaying the inevitable choice: war or submission.
"I do not think you understand", Duneirien said. "We do not ask you to leave your homes here forever. You live where you want, as do we all. But right now there is great danger here, and we cannot yet estimate how great, or exactly what it is. The Shadow is here, yes - but what brought it? As of yet we are blind and vulnerable. Before we know what threat we stand against, and as long as the Elvenking cannot keep the border steady, you are in grave danger out here."
"But if we move", Ninniach said patiently, "what will be left of our homes when we return? It is always easier to hold a place than to retake it. If we leave, we leave forever."
"If you die", said Duneirien, "you will also have left forever."
There was a murmur of protest from the elves of the shadow-wood, the closest they would come to shouting, but Ninniach hushed at them. Duneirien had spoken the truth, though a more diplomatic elf would have worded it differently.
"Many of us has already died for Greenwood", Ninniach said. "I do not see why we should not do it now. Greenwood is Greenwood, and we will not abandon her."
"We do not abandon Greenwood because we leave the place where she is, at the moment, the most dangerous", Duneirien said. "We are of no use to her dead; we must retreat until we know what we are facing, and when we do that..."
"When we do that, we will have nothing to come back to", said the elf with the jet-black braids. "We will be homeless and vulnerable, unless we stay in the Mountain - which is, of course, what you want us to do."
Merilin stood up and went to the edge of the fire-light, turning her back on the others. She knew they were watching her, judging her weak. But they were right, and she had nothing else to say.
At least, she thought, nothing more to make them move. They didn't want to leave this wretched place, not even if if staying meant they would all die - which meant telling them it was dangerous to stay was fruitless. They already knew it. They didn't care.
But she couldn't imagine they all wanted to die. No - there must be something else, something she had overlooked. Of course they wanted to live, anyone would, but the cost was too high. And just what was the cost?
Submission, she thought. That was it. If they moved into the Mountain they followed the same course as the Elven King and Queen had done years ago, as they had done since the Shadow first appeared: leave, not fight - avoid the dangers, not try to stop them. Since the battle of the Last Alliance that had reduced their people to little more than one third than their original size, the wood-elves had avoided war at all costs - but the elves of the shadow-wood no longer wanted to avoid it. It was not this particular place, these settlements and these trees that they wanted to protect so fiercely. They simply did not want to give up.
And they were no longer alone.
"I think I understand you now", she said, turning. "We have come to you with all the wrong expectations, all the wrong words and most importantly, all the wrong intentions. You have fought for yourselves for years. You do not want to give all that up. You do not want to retreat and live in fear as the rest of us had done. Am I right?" Slowly they nodded, their faces pale and vivid in the fire-light. "So, then, what if I told you that the warriors of the Last Alliance had taken up their weapons again by the time we left the Mountains? That after all these years they have decided to pick up the fight? What if I told you that among my soldiers here are many who would rather fight than flee? What if I told you that we must fight, for caution has brought us nowhere, and that is clear to us now as it was to you long ago? What if I tell you - what if I ask you, not to come with us for your safety, but to come with us because together we will be many, and we will be strong?"
Silence followed her words, but it was a silence tinged with emotion. She found every elf in the clearing looking at her, and in their eyes she saw doubt and hope both, and for a moment she wanted to laugh - but then, she thought, war could not be laughed at. It was such a terrible thing to crave, such a terrible thing to unite them. But she had always known, in the back of her mind, that it was the only way. Of course she could never have convinced them of something she had not believed in herself.
"The Mountain is not a refuge", she said. "It is a fortress, a place from whence we can organize our defense and fight back. We have fled for long enough. We will flee no longer." Her voice trembled, but she raised it anyway. "Come with us, and we will go to war."
The elf with the jet-black braids stood up.
"Prove it", he said.
"Prove it?"
"How else shall we know you speak the truth, my lady? Words are but words. They mean little if they aren't put to action. Prove it, and we may follow you."
She went cold. She knew what he wanted. The orcs were still in the forest, and they had her father's crown - the very act of taking it had been meant to humiliate them, and to take it back...
It's impossible, she thought. We'll die.
"Very well", she said. "I will prove it.
Dawn broke at last. The wood-elves huddled together by the fire in a mist so thick they could not see further than the edge of the trees. No one spoke but in hushed whispers, a soothing word here and there, an assurance that it would be alright despite their hearts telling them it never would. Not after this. Tinuhen walked between them and made sure to speak to everyone, even those who would not speak to him.
He did not blame them for their anger. It was his fault that Beren now lay still an cold under a blanket, so pale and hollow-eyed he was hardly recognisable as the guard's captain he had once been, shot by five arrows even though the second one had killed him. It was Tinuhen's fault that Tulus lay severely injured, that another elf had lost two fingers - his fault that the wagon was ruined and they would have to split the last of their supplies between themselves - his fault that three horses and several of Radagast's birds and bats were dead - his fault that Laeros had sunk into an apathy so deep they could not get a word from him, and that the healers feared would ruin all the progress he had made until then. The guilt walked beside Tinuhen like a shadow, tugging at his thoughts and gnawing at his heart.
"What is going to happen to us?" he asked, glancing sideways at Hethulin. "What are we to do?"
"What we've always done", she replied quietly. "Go on."
"I do not know if i can."
"It isn't only you, Tinuhen."
He longed so badly for something to hold on to, something to lean on. But she was right. It wasn't all about him. He'd brought them into this, but they would get out of it together. Somehow they would.
A flutter of soft wings startled them both, and Quick-wing swept out of the mist. The sparrow-hawk, apparently, had been sent to warn them, but when he realised the wood-elves would be overwhelmed, he went to find Radagast instead. He was so tired that Tinuhen scooped him up in his arms instead of letting him sit on his arm.
"Ragast says, elf must come. Has found something important in Stair."
"We better go check that out, then."
Hethulin followed him out of the trees and in behind the remains of the wagon. They had to climb over the bulwark of bodies piled up there, and with the stitches in his side still raw Tinuhen could not do it on his own, but Hethulin was there, lending him a hand - of all the elves she seemed the least angry with him, or perhaps she had already been so angry nothing could make things worse. Silently they walked up the blood-slicked stairs.
Radagast stood past the first bend of the Stair, kneeling by the faintly stirring body of a large goblin. When he'd appeared, striding tall and powerful beneath the cloud of birds and bats, with his eyes flaming and his staff held high, the wolves leaping around him and the bear bowing it's head in respect, he'd seemed terrifying like the mightiest of Valar, and the goblins had fled before the very sight of him. Now he was the usual Radagast again, but Tinuhen cold not forget it. He had always thought the Brown Wizard completely powerless compared to Mithrandir or Saruman.
"Is aught wrong?" Hethulin asked, frowning at the goblin. "Why haven't you killed it?"
Radagast straightened. "He was the leader behind the attack. That is - not behind it all. Someone else is working in the shadows. But perhaps he knows who."
Tinuhen handed Quick-wing over to Hethulin and crouched down. The goblin lay on his back, his body twisted and one leg sticking out at an odd angle under him - he must have tried to scale the cliff-walls, but fallen and been trampled by his own soldiers. Dark blood stained his tattered velvet cloak. His lips were drawn back, baring broken teeth.
When he looked at him, Tinuhen could not even feel remorse, only weariness. "If you answer our questions, you will have a quick death. If you do not, we will leave you to die slowly. Do you understand?"
The goblin's mouth worked painstakingly before he croaked: "Such mercy. Very - very fitting for a prince."
"How did - why do you think I am the prince?"
The goblin curled his raw lips into a smile, and his eyes flickered towards Hethulin. "We guessed it. She confirmed it."
Hethulin cursed under her breath. She must have slipped when she came to rescue him, though Tinuhen could not remember it.
"How many of you were there?" he asked.
"Seventy, oh noble prince, and word of your royal presence will spread from here to Mount Gundabad in mere days." The goblin coughed, his face twisted in agony, a tendril of blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. "Ask your questions and leave. You wish to know if you will be attacked again? Of course you will, princeling, and next time we will come for you. You wish to know why? Because you are elves and it is our pleasure. You wish to know how long we will let you live before we have mercy on your wretched soul and kill you?"
"I do not", Tinuhen hissed, grabbed the goblin by the collar and hauled him up to his face. "I wish to know who you are working for."
The goblin smiled, blood bubbling up between his lips. He would not, Tinuhen realised, need assistance to gain a quick death.
"You would not know him. Nobody does. He is the Old One."
"The Old One?"
"Aye", the goblin said, his voice surprisingly soft. "That is how we know him. He came to us, told us to gather. We obeyed."
Tinuhen looked up at Hethulin and Radagast, to see if any of them understood. They looked as confused as he felt. The wizard's eyes were narrow slits beneath his bushy eyebrows.
"Why did you follow him?" he asked. "What did he promise you?"
"We - we had to", the goblin whispered. "The Old One always watched, always knew. He would... would have hunted us down to the last yearling if we defied him." He coughed again, clutching his battered chest. "He promised us - to slay the demon twins - curse them and their bright blades - so that we could take the mountains again. He promised that - the goblins would rule..." The goblin's eyes rolled back and he tensed, his back arching. When he parted his lips a stream of blood gushed out, dribbled down his chin and stained the snow red.
"...that the goblins would rule..."
He twisted, struggling to breathe through the blood -
"...after the elves."
Tinuhen straightened. The goblin fell back and lay still. Radagast bent down to close his eyes.
"Ai Elbereth", Hethulin muttered.
Radagast bowed his head. "These are grave news, but not altogether surprising. This Old One, my prince, must be the one behind Tuiw's death, in liege, mayhap, with the sorcerer of Dol Guldur."
Tinuhen nodded, licking his lips.
"We must leave this place quickly - but not through the stairs. The goblins fled that way and they may be desperate enough to attack you again, especially now that you are so weakened. There is another way - the pass above the Gladden Fields. It is not far, and if you leave now, you may reach Rivendell ere Midwinter."
"Beren mentioned that pass", Tinuhen said, "but he said we should not take it."
"I am not surprised that he did. That pass is safer than most, but you will not like it. It is a swift road, but a dark one."
"It is a cave."
"It is."
Hethulin's gaze flittered anxiously from Radagast to Tinuhen. "I will not go through a cave, and I believe I speak for most of us. Not after everything we've gone through. You can't put us through that."
"And the Council?" Tinuhen asked, looking at her.
"Is it truly that important?"
"It is that important."
"Then Radagast can go ahead of us and tell them to move it."
Radagast shook his head. "It is not so easy. They will not move it - at least, I fear, they will be coerced not to. There is... are members of the Council who do not even approve of my presence, and they will not delay it for the sake of someone who is not supposed to be there. You must be there in time, and so you must go through the cave - today, or you will have no chance." He looked at Tinuhen. "After all you have gone through, will you let it be for naught?"
"I... of course not."
"If the others are reluctant, come ahead with me and let them follow at their own pace. As long as you are with me you have no need for a bigger escort."
"Certainly not", Tinuhen said - he knew that now. But he hesitated. Radagast's suggestion sounded sensible, it did. Whatever happens, Tinuhen, get to the Council in time, father had said. Whatever happens.
But father had not know that this would happen.
He glanced at Hethulin. She had objected to their going into the Stair, and he had ignored her. Still she had come back. She had come back for him.
"I cannot leave them", he said. "I cannot, Radagast. I led them into this. If I leave them now, weak and grief-struck, caught up in a place they hate, with little food and no shelter..." He shook his head. "We must talk about this and let everyone say their wish. If they choose not to take the cave, so be it; I shall stay here with them. It is the only way I will have it." He looked at Quick-wing. "I know you are very tired, my friend, but I need to ask you one last thing."
"Anything for elf!"
"Fly back to Rivendell. Find Legolas, or lord Elrond, or Mithrandir or Saruman if they are there. Tell them we are coming, and tell them I wish to attend the Council. Stay away from anyway else, and be careful."
Quick-wing nodded solemnly, spread his wings and flew. Radagast looked after him.
"Are you disappointed?" Tinuhen asked.
The Brown Wizard smiled. "Not at all. You are complicating things, truly, but you are also right. I shall go ahead of you and see what I can do. If we are lucky, they will delay the Council."
"And if they do not", Tinuhen said, "then Greenwood will know it stands alone, and alone we will stand."
It's far from perfect but I'm immensely happy with how this chapter turned out. I've been dreading writing the action scene since I started posting the story and it turned out so much better than I dared to hope. Legolas will of course return in the next chapter, I didn't want to leave him out but this was the best way to organize the chapter. Thank you for reading! ^u^