CHAPTER VI
TROUBLE ON THE HORIZON
The stars were out and the leaves were still, yet things were far from calm on the borders of Lothlórien. Trouble was stirring on this night, the quiet severed by the rhythmic pounding of iron-clad feet. Earlier in the evening, Orcs had come down from the mountains, and were now encroaching upon the Golden Wood.
"Come on, maggots! Move it!" The offensive voice carried through the branches, reaching the Galadhrim who hid among them.
Crouched on a tree-limb, his bow in readiness, Haldir observed the Orcs through narrowed eyes, and tallied their numbers. Seventy-four. His mouth set in a thin line, he glanced at his brothers who were waiting on a talan over in the next tree. With a subtle wave of his hand, Haldir indicated that it was time. They nodded.
Swiftly and quietly, they made their way to the forest floor, where they spread out in different directions. Keeping to the shadows, the brothers encircled the intruders at a safe distance, then deliberately started to make noise—whether by laughing, talking with feigned voices, or moving loudly amongst the branches.
"What was that?" one of the Orcs asked.
Angling his head to the side, another Orc sniffed the air and listened. "Elves," he said at last, his voice filled with bloodlust.
"Filthy cravens!" one of them cried. "Always sneaking, always hiding. Tonight we feast on Elf flesh!"
This idea was met with raucous laughter and the loud thumping of blade against shield. "Yes, yes," another one agreed.
Curse the Orcs and their foulness, Haldir thought as he slipped further into the night. Hoping to lure them away from the realm, he shook a leafy branch and spoke loudly, goading them with insults of his own.
It worked. They are as stupid as they are ugly.
Night deepened and the Orcs were led further north and west. It was a confusing trail, winding this way and that. But it was also deliberate. As they hunted for the Elves, with rough and dirty scimitars, the Orcs were unwittingly drawn into a carefully laid trap.
By the time they realised what was happening, it was already too late.
"Argh!" one of them cried, hand flying to the arrow skewering its neck.
The Orcs were caught, wedged between a sizeable company of Elves. It was chaotic at first, the air filled with shrill cries, death rattles, and the persistent song of flying arrows. Yet above the blood and the disarray, order and precision reigned in the trees. Volley after volley, the Elves loosed their arrows in unison. And once their quivers were restocked, Haldir gave the order again. "Leithio i philinn!"
Bowstrings were released. Then more cries from down below. As the surviving Orcs scurried in search of cover, shooting crude arrows of their own, the elven patrols moved to encircle them.
Haldir had just killed an Orc and was aiming for another when he heard a swift oscillating sound. Instinct had him moving to the right. His hair stirred, a light gust of wind fanned the underside of his jaw. No sooner had the arrow whizzed by, narrowly missing his jugular, than Haldir shot back, hitting true and killing the Orc who had sought to shoot him down.
All the while, in the surrounding mallyrn, his soldiers were readying another volley with speed and skill unmatched. Their bows sang, and their aim was true. Less than forty Orcs remained. Thirty-two. Twenty-six.
It would be a swift victory, Haldir thought, and shot once more.
"Telir yrch!" A familiar voice echoed amid the battle. It was Celegon, one of the sentinels who had been charged with watching the valley. "Orcs are coming!" he said again.
"How many?" Haldir demanded.
"A hundred at the least," Celegon answered as he paused to shoot at the enemy. "They are crossing the border as we speak. We need reinforcements."
Troubled by this news, Haldir called for Ninael, one of his most trusted soldiers.
"Over here." Ninael nocked another arrow, her feral gaze trained on the few remaining Orcs who were now trying to scale the trees.
"I trust you can dispatch this filthy lot?" Haldir asked her and jerked his chin toward the Orcs below.
Ninael flashed a white grin, and shot once more. "We will see it done." Sable hair shining in the moonlight, she then motioned to her patrol. "You heard the Marchwarden! Let them rue the night they set foot in these woods!"
And so, as Ninael's patrol rained death upon the doomed creatures below, Haldir rallied the rest of his soldiers, ordering them to the west.
By the time they had reached the outer fences, the Orcs' numbers had fallen, though not by much. With newly-arrived support, however, the Elves soon gained the upper hand. Before long, less than fifty Orcs remained.
"Evil fate, I have run out of arrows again," Haldir heard Orophin say from a nearby tree. And he was not the only one who was running low.
But Celegon, having foreseen the shortage, had gone to fetch more bundles, and was now passing them out, tossing them from where they had been hidden, in the uppermost reaches of the trees.
"Haldir!" Rúmil was pointing to the forest floor, where a group of Orcs were clustered near the base of a tree, their shields raised around them as they worked in concert—to what end, Haldir could not tell, until a flickering flash revealed their intent.
"They are setting fire to the mallorn!" Orophin yelled.
The Elves loosed more arrows, but the creatures' shields formed a protective barrier.
A short distance away, Rúmil had anticipated Haldir's next command. His bow slung upon his back, he was already moving, his hand going to his scabbard, when Haldir ordered, "Swords!"
Beautiful, polished blades rang free.
Unsurprisingly Rúmil was the first to reach the ground. But then, he had never been one to wait. His eyes were wild, his sword moving in swift patterns. It spoke of his eagerness as a soldier, and his hatred for the Orcs. Nevertheless, as impatient as he could be at times, Rúmil was not a reckless fool. Like all who served on the fences, he was capable and disciplined. If Haldir had given the order to wait, he would have heeded his command. He always did.
That being said, Rúmil had been right in charging down. Orcs were destructive enough on their own, but fire… Fire was another beast altogether.
The Elves fell upon the Orcs at once. Getting past their shields, Haldir and his soldiers felled the creatures with ease, but not before the Orcs had achieved their aim.
Fire had already taken hold.
"The roots are covered in pitch!" Rúmil yelled, his stricken features lit by the flames which were now licking their way up the trunk.
"Water! Now!" Haldir bellowed then whistled for reinforcements. His soldiers wasted no time.
Having trained for just such instances, a group of thirty sentinels assembled to form a chain between the fire and the nearest water source, while above them, a separate patrol had gone to fetch buckets, which were now being tossed into awaiting hands. On the ground, Haldir, his brothers, and a dozen other soldiers remained focused on the battle.
For a mercy, most of the Orcs were dead at this point. Once the Elves had achieved victory and all the Orcs had been slain, Haldir shifted his attention to this newest threat. If left unchecked, the fire could soon get out of hand, decimating these woods. Even now it was snaking up the tree, and spreading about the ground near the burning roots.
With stern efficiency, Haldir coordinated the effort. As more Elves arrived, one chain became two, then three. When the first buckets arrived, Haldir joined one of the lines. At the forefront, he reached for the bucket that was handed to him, and promptly tossed its contents onto the fire. Heat and steam assailed him, the acrid smell of smoke filling his nostrils.
And so the Elves fought the flames, one bucket at a time, until finally, the fire lessened then died out. At first light, all that remained of the assault was the lingering smell of smoke and scattered piles of Orc carcasses.
The rising sun at his back, Haldir surveyed the offensive heaps. His lip curled in disgust, he turned away, and addressed the Galadhrim who were waiting nearby. "Dispose of them in the valley. They have soiled these woods long enough."
His attention shifting to more immediate concerns, Haldir left them to their task. As he walked past the injured mallorn, however, his sorrowful gaze lingered upon its charred skin. With slowing steps, Haldir stopped near its base, his hand rising to graze the bole. The mallorn's roots and trunk were blackened, while up above, its lowermost leaves were shrivelled to a dry crisp. It was a wonder they had not ignited.
Grieved by the sight of the injured tree, Haldir stood motionless, until Orophin came to stand alongside him, echoing his anger by saying, "Curse those creatures."
As his brother surveyed the tree, Haldir saw the same grief in his profile.
"The mallorn lives," Orophin noted as he, too, touched the trunk.
"The tree is alive," Haldir concurred, sighing. "But I feel its pain. It is weeping. Do you hear it?"
Orophin gave a sorrowful nod.
When two soldiers passed by, Haldir asked that additional water be brought to the mallorn. "See that it drinks deep. But make certain it receives words of comfort as well. This tree is suffering."
Having other duties to attend to, Haldir and Orophin left the wounded tree, and made for a nearby talan, where three other sentinels were waiting.
"What news from our patrols?" Haldir asked once he had climbed onto the platform. It was a daily custom, for as Marchwarden, he was kept apprised of any activity near and within the northern borders.
"Naught but ill tidings, I am afraid," one of them answered. And what he had to say was troubling. For the third time this fortnight, a large number of Orcs and Warg-riders had been seen coming up from the south. "Some of them branched off in the direction of Moria," he continued gravely. "The remaining host continued north at great speed."
The news was unsettling. As it sank in, Haldir walked to the edge of the flet, and turned his gaze westward. Moria. The Black Chasm. It was long since Orcs had settled in that accursed place. And longer still since the Dwarves who had carved its halls had dug too deep, unearthing a foe so terrible the miners had been forced to flee, abandoning their work and their home, leaving it open for more evil to creep in.
The effect of that flight had been long-reaching, and could still be felt to this day. Not only in the mountains, but here in Lórien. Indeed, many of the Elves had fled in those days, fearing the ancient evil that had awoken so close to their borders. For his part, Haldir would never forget those sorrowful years, and the exodus that had changed not only the ruling structure of the realm, but his own role within it.
To be sure, it had been a tumultuous time for his kindred. And many had lost their lives. Such change. Such loss.
But now, after centuries of watchful calm broken only by the occasional skirmish, it seemed to Haldir that darkness was spreading about the land once again, deepening the shadows.
Eyes on the west, his troubled musings remained on Moria. Things were definitely stirring in that desolate place. Dark things. Sometimes, when the air was still, elven patrols reported hearing a faint drumming from the depths. It troubled him greatly, for the Orcs were growing bolder. And their numbers are growing.
"What are your thoughts?" Orophin asked as he joined his brother.
Haldir was silent for a moment. If he was honest, he had felt it for a good while now: a deep sense of foreboding. "Evil is gathering. That much is clear."
And so began another day on the borders of Lothlórien. Since Orcs were not overfond of sunlight, the watch proved rather quiet. At midday, while his brothers enjoyed the simple yet flavourful fare of the Galadhrim, Haldir stood at one end of the flet, his gaze lost to the immediate horizon.
"Will you not eat, brother?" Rúmil asked from where he sat. Though he looked youthful—and was indeed much younger than Haldir and Orophin—Rúmil's appearance was rather deceiving, for he was over a thousand years old.
Haldir met his eyes. "In a while." In truth, he was preoccupied, his mind seeking to make sense of the enemy's movements. What purpose drives them north?
A warm wind swept among the trees just then, stirring the leaves and the saplings that grew on the forest floor. His gaze falling to a trembling patch of mallos, Haldir's musings turned to a certain maid from Rohan.
In the time since Annalyn and her kin had left the Golden Wood—more than a fortnight ago—Haldir had sometimes thought of them, wondered how they fared. Wherever they were, he hoped they had eluded the enemy.
"Someone is coming." Orophin rose to his feet.
True enough, someone was marching in from the east.
"Thannor," Haldir said with slight puzzlement then went to meet him. "You are far from the city, my friend."
A long-time soldier in the Galadhrim, Thannor was not presently assigned to the borders, but rather to the city gates.
"What can I say," the guard said with a broadening smile. "I missed the woods, and was growing restless in the city."
As Haldir clasped his arm, Thannor went on, "I was coming off-duty when I learned that a courier was needed. I volunteered."
"You come bearing a message, then?"
"Your presence is required in the city," he stated then handed the summons from the Lord and the Lady who no doubt wished to discuss all that had happened on the borders of late.
Haldir gave a nod. "Very well. I shall arrange for my replacement and will leave at once."
And so it was that Haldir travelled to the great elven city.
When he finally strode through the gates, nearly a day after setting out, a bright morning sun was shining upon the towering mallyrn at the heart of Caras Galadhon.
Three thousand years he had lived here, yet it never failed to take his breath away—a city of silver and gold, of bridges and stairs and dwellings strewn like pearls amongst the great trees.
Wasting no time, Haldir traversed many winding paths, passing fountains and stone statues as he went. At length, he came to a series of steps leading to the top of the hill upon which grew the mightiest mallorn of all.
When at last he had reached the top of the long, winding stair which was wrapped about the bole of the tree, Haldir was met by the rulers of Lórien. Bowing low, he greeted them with the reverence they were due, then watched as they stepped forth, their hands linked between them.
"Welcome. We have been expecting you," Lord Celeborn said before looking to his wife.
"Come," Galadriel told Haldir, "we have much to discuss."
With that, the rulers turned and stepped through the threshold of their large dwelling. Haldir trailed after them.
When it came to Lothlórien and its surrounding lands, little escaped the knowledge of the Lord and Lady of the Wood. As it was, they were aware of the Orcs' latest incursions, as well as the marching hosts and their northern route. The latter seemed most troubling to them.
Sitting in a chair beside her husband, the Lady of Light beheld her Marchwarden. "Evil stirs beyond our borders, in lands both near and far. A menace is gathering." Her voice was grave, her eyes even more so. "I have seen it. I have felt it. And I fear that it is but a prelude to even darker times."
Silence fell. If Lady Galadriel knew more, she did not say.
Their features bathed in the soft light of the room, the Lord and the Lady exchanged a knowing look. Then, as Galadriel nodded, Celeborn said, "We have seen many things, it is true. Yet there is much we do not know."
When next he spoke, the purpose of this council was made clear. "You have travelled abroad in the past," Celeborn said to Haldir. "You know the land as well as the enemy."
Haldir raised his chin. "You wish for me to follow them, and see what they are about." It was a statement rather than a question.
The Lord and the Lady nodded once, in unison.
His hand rising to his chest, Haldir gave a small bow. "I shall not fail you."
