Chapter Nineteen

He thanked the Valar for caves. The reprieve and safety they offered at night, shelter from the storms and bands of orcs. The purge had quickly turned into an extended game of cat and mouse game in which they did not always have the upper hand. It was a miscalculation of the numbers of orcs in the northern mountains that led to their disadvantage. Whilst they had superior skill, the overwhelming mass of enemies they encounters whittled their force away; each victory did not seem to have an impact. No matter how thoroughly they destroyed the companies they encountered another two took their place the next morning.

"The snows will come within the week," Hesten murmured as he leaned his head gently against Glorfindel's shoulder. They were both exhausted, each watch they took threatened to be the straw that broke their backs. "I can smell it." Glorfindel could sense the weather turning as well, his mind replaying their journey through the passes and cataloguing which would fill with snow first. He did not voice his apprehension however, no captain did that and he had once been a captain. Hesten stretched and sat up, looking longingly at the others asleep within the cave. It was their first real shelter since leaving Imladris, for two nights they had managed to sleep peacefully. Elves may not feel the temperature but it disturbed their sleep and unprotected out on the mountain side they could not rest easily for fear of attack.

Glorfindel slipped out from under Hesten's head to look at the moon. He judged it to be slightly after midnight and time to change the watch. One half of the pair he was supposed to wake had already unfurled herself and was looking at him with luminous brown eyes. Even with the safety of the cave it seemed not all could sleep soundly.

"Come on," he whispered to Hesten, nudging the other guard gently awake. "My apologies." He curled up, scabbard in hand and was asleep in moments, almost before Hesten had settled a few feet away.

It seemed to him that he had barely closed his eyes before a shout woke him. Half of them were standing before they even knew what was going on. The sentries ran in, each collared by Maethor before they could take a few steps.

"Two hundred coming from below, another hundred from above." They had less than half that and the orcs knew the mountains better than they did now they had strayed beyond the normal borders of Imladris. It was entirely possible that they had another force converging on their position that they were unaware of.

"Form up!" The horses were retrieved from the depths of the cave, mounted and their camp was broken quickly. Glorfindel handed Isowen her bow, receiving one last smile before the ranks separated them.

"He is abandoning our only defensible position," she whispered.

"He has spent too long guarding a valley and has had enough of it," Glorfindel answered. It was a shame Maethor craved a fully pitched battle, he was a master of keep defence. He was as good as Ecthelion, possibly. Glorfindel knew he could never plan a defence as Maethor could, hence he had been given the market rather than the gate in Gondolin.

It was a quick rush to find level ground they could turn and stand on, cavalry needing the height advantage. In the passes the smell of orc was strong and stagnant. It was the sound that alerted them to the company to their left. Blind corners lay in front and Maethor called to ready bows.

They felled the first ranks before the orcs were even aware they had arrived. Glorfindel loosened another shaft as he collided with the ranks. Then the small bow was returned to the strap on his back and he had Aulë's sword in his hands, cleaving the foul creatures in two almost without thought. The elves cut through the orcs as if they were water around an oar.

"Circle around!" Maethor ordered and those who had broken through to the far side turned, briefly forming a wave that hit the orcs in the back with stinging blows. "Regrou-" The shout was cut short and Glorfindel turned on Asfaloth's back to look for the red haired elf.

"Keep going!" he told the others quickly, waving Hesten on. They could not afford to stop. The rout came quickly, the orcs turning to stream out of the pass the way they had come. Glorfindel raised his sword and charged after them, aware that the majority of the others were followed him closely. The mountains rose around them, the dried stream bed treacherously rocky under their horses' hooves.

Eventually he halted Asfaloth, knowing that they could not hunt down every orc. Instead he turned around, his companions doing the same and returned to the pass where the they were lining up the dead and gathering the wounded. Immediately Glorfindel realised he had lost sight of not only Maethor but Hesten as well.

"Glorfindel!" Their chief archer waved him over to where Isowen and another healer were crouched over a prone form. Hesten had an orcish arrow firmly embedded in his leg.

"Maethor?" Glorfindel asked the archer quietly as he bent down to take his friend's hand and keep him quiet as the healers pushed the arrowhead through the flesh.

"Dead," she told him simply. The world almost fell quiet, as if Hesten's whimper of pain was nothing and the mountains gave out an oppressive moan.

"You do not have a choice, Glor," Isowen said as she leaned across him to wrap Hesten's leg tightly. "Stand up." He did not move, looking around for another of the lieutenants who could lead them back. Hesten was barely conscious, their chief archer watching him apprehensively. After a quick head count he realised that there was no one else. Still he did not stand up.

"Valar condemn you, Glor! Stand up!" If he had not been looking at her, Glorfindel could have been forgiven for thinking the ghost of his mother had been returned to bully him into moving. "That is why you are here!" Isowen had resorted to reaching out silently, her thoughts ringing as they crashed into his. No one had dared since his return.

It was the sound of shouting, scouts running back along the pass that made him stand. Whether he thought it prudent or not someone had to lead them back to shelter.

"Get the wounded on horses!" He called, hating himself for what he was about to presume to order them to do.

"And the dead?" Erestor's archer friend, the one with the primroses asked.

"We do not have a choice. Another company of orcs are converging on us, we must get to shelter until sunrise." Then the orcs would retreat, hiding away from the sun and they could make their way back.

Asfaloth nuzzled Hesten's prone form as they mounted, Isowen leading the bay she had lain Hesten across. Their formation was appalling but the scouts knew their place and Glorfindel could not have asked for better as they kept up a fast pace through the pass.

"Yrch!" Orcs, the scouts shouted.

"Archers!" Glorfindel rode forward along with the majority of those unscathed by the last encounter. They did not have many wounded, he noted. Enough to make their already diminished force vulnerable.

"Isowen, take all those now behind me and make for the lowlands. We will hold them off!" He turned to the archer. "You are free to take command." She shook her head.

"They are nothing compared to balrogs." That brought him up short for a heartbeat. He had not even thought of Eagles' Cleft until then, the rush of the moment keeping him firmly in the present. How hard he wished she had not mentioned it. He was no hero, he had been nothing more than a desperate boy trying to defend his friends.

"Then forwards," he heard himself say with Turgon's voice.