IV: Orcs Get in Your Eyes

The next morning saw them on their way. Estel’s condition had improved remarkably overnight and Elrond was well pleased with his progress.

"It’s the legacy of the Dúnedain, to heal more quickly than other mortals," Elrond had commented as they gathered up their things and rode away from the campsite.

Their path wound through the foothills, which were covered with thick growths of pine and alder, but thinned as they wended their way down towards the floodplains of the Anduin. By midday they had made good time, and Elrond figured they would reach the open plains by mid-morning of the next day at the latest.

The day had remained fair and pleasant, if cool, and the three of them basked in the late autumn sun as they made their way along the road, yet the horses were restless and that worried Glorfindel, who often found himself looking about as if trying to catch some elusive scent.

"What do you sense?" Elrond asked quietly when they stopped by mutual consent to allow the horses to drink from a small rill, though they themselves did not bother to dismount.

"Nothing specific," answered Glorfindel, looking troubled. "There has been a darkness growing in my mind these last two days but I cannot tell what it might portend. I will feel better when we leave these woods and are out on the open plain. The road is straighter there and we will make better time."

Elrond nodded. "Yes. These woods still speak of the orcs that haunted them not too long ago. Come, let us ride on, but keep your wits about you. It will take us another day to ride out of these foothills. Let us hope we can do so without alerting others to our presence."

Thus, they rode on, keeping a sharp watch, but except for the nervousness of the horses and the uneasy feelings of the two elves, they saw nothing threatening all that day. That night, though, Elrond decided that two should stand watch at the same time, so he and Estel stood the first watch. Glorfindel took over for Estel at midnight and then in the final watch Estel joined Glorfindel while Elrond slept. Of the three, Estel got the most sleep however broken it was, but neither Elrond nor Glorfindel had felt the need for sleep as deeply as the mortal had, who was still recovering from his fall off the cliff.

They set off again shortly after dawn, not wishing to bother much with breakfast, preferring instead to eat while riding so they would be sooner out of the woods and onto the plains. Elrond admitted that he would feel much easier in his mind if they could but reach the open road and both Glorfindel and Estel agreed.

It was probably near the third hour past dawn that their worst fears were realized. The road, which had been fairly open so near the plains, had suddenly narrowed, passing between two small steep-sided hills that marked the opening of the path leading to the High Pass from the floodplains. This forced them to ride single-file. The horses balked at going through the defile, especially Mithfaron, who suddenly reared back in protest, causing Estel to lose his balance, and thereby possibly saving his rider’s life, for Estel had been forced to lean down across the horse’s neck in an attempt to control the horse, just as a black-fletched arrow flew past where his body had been.

"Ambush!" yelled Glorfindel, helping Estel with Mithfaron. "Don’t retreat. Ride for the plains, it’s our only chance."

And ride they did, the screams of orcs echoing eerily through the hills, arrows whizzing past them. The defile was not long, less than a mile, but it seemed forever to the Man as they raced towards the open plains and the river. It was unlikely that the orcs would bother to pursue them too far from the hills, for they were a cowardly race and little cared for the open sky and the sun.

Ahead, Estel could see the road opening up again as it left the foothills altogether, running down towards the meadows that bordered the Anduin some twenty-five leagues away. At the sight of the open plains before them, the horses began gathering speed, which seemed to infuriate the orcs who feared their prey was slipping out of their grasp. With savage yells that were made more hideous by the echoes reverberating through the hills, the goblins began to descend from the hilltops towards the plains in an attempt to cut off their flight. Recognizing their intention, Elrond bared his sword, Gloruilos, of dire fame, from its ruel-bone sheath, and Estel followed suit, but Glorfindel took up his bow and began shooting arrows with deadly accuracy.

They managed to cut through the first wave of orcs and were outracing them, but to Glorfindel’s surprise, looking back, he saw they were still being pursued, even onto the plain and under broad daylight.

"They haven’t given up, Elrond," he shouted to the elf-lord, "and we’re three days from the river. We need to lose them."

Elrond did not stop, but shouted back, "Let us keep on and try to outdistance them. They must follow us on foot and no orc can outrun a horse. If we gain enough ground we may be able to rest for a while before going on. If they continue following us we’ll have to travel by night as well to keep ahead of them."

So saying they urged their steeds to greater speed but even the best of horses cannot run without rest and so after an hour they were forced to slow to a walk to give the horses time to recover. Looking back Estel was not able to see where the orcs were, but Glorfindel, noticing him squinting into the distance, said, "They’re about a league behind us, no more. I doubt we will reach the river before they catch up with us."

"Perhaps," chimed in Elrond, "but we have no choice."

"Why do they pursue us?" Estel asked, perplexed. His experience with orcs, while limited, told him these were acting out of charcter. "Orcs do not travel during the day."

"Say rather that they do not prefer to, but will when driven, as these seem to be," Elrond replied, coming to a halt, causing Glorfindel and Estel to stop as well. "As to why they continue to pursue us...." But he did not finish his words, only glancing briefly at his foster son before turning his gaze on Glorfindel, who said nothing, though both their expressions were grave.

"Adar?"

Elrond shook his head. "I have my suspicions, iôn nîn, but I do not know for certain. Perhaps, if they ever catch up with us, we can ask," and a faint sardonic smile crossed his face, causing Glorfindel to snort and mutter a word Estel didn’t quite catch though he suspected it was not something one would say in polite company. Elrond’s smile merely broadened. "Come, we still have miles yet to go."

Anor was nearly at noon when they stopped to rest again. Looking back along the road, Estel still couldn’t see if the orcs were pursuing them, but Glorfindel muttered an oath that the mortal had only heard used once by the elf and that was under extreme circumstances.

"What is it Glorfindel?" Estel asked. "What do you see?"

But it was Elrond who answered, his voice sounding grimmer than Estel had ever heard it before. "Wargs. The orcs have been joined by wargs. We’ll not be able to outrun them now and we’ve only come less than a third of the distance to the river."

For a long moment no one spoke.

"So, what do we do?" Estel finally asked, his voice surprisingly calm.

Elrond gave his foster son a quick look of approval. "What we can." Glorfindel nodded in agreement and without another word they set off again, urging their horses on, and indeed they needed no such urging for all four horses had caught the scent of warg.

Now it truly was a race, a race Estel knew they had no real hope of winning, but the only other choice was to stand and fight and even he knew that with only the three of them there was no chance of surviving such an attack. At least this way there was a chance, however slim. Within another half hour even Estel could see, and hear, the wargs coming behind them, all of them ridden by orcs. It was a terrifying sight and Estel resolutely turned his gaze forward, silently urging Mithfaron on, though he could feel the gelding beginning to falter. The river, Estel noticed, was still only a fuzzy blue line near the horizon beyond which rose the dark green smudge that marked the edge of Mirkwood, Greenwood of old.

They had gone perhaps another three miles when Mithfaron finally stumbled, though luckily he did not fall. The poor horse was lathered and gasping for breath. Estel was nearly unseated when his horse stumbled and struggled to stay on, for he was reeling with fatigue himself, and only quick action from Glorfindel prevented him from falling off.

"I’m sorry," the Man gasped. "I don’t think either Mithfaron or I can go on without rest."

"Then we make our stand here," Elrond said, bringing Tologyll back to the other side of Mithfaron. "There are some low hills just to the north of the road. Let us wait for the enemy there, for they will have to come uphill to reach us and that may give us some advantage."

Estel looked where Elrond had pointed and saw a group of hills, not much better than hillocks, actually, which rose about a mile from the road. They were the only features in the otherwise flat floodplains and looked to Estel’s untrained eye somewhat unnatural. However, he nodded in agreement and they continued on, but as they drew closer to the hills he could see that they were actually grass-covered mounds, three of them in a row, one behind the other, all of a uniform height, about half as tall again as Lord Elrond and the unnatural feeling grew within him. Suddenly he realized what he was seeing.

"These aren’t hills, Adar," Estel whispered. "They’re graves."

The three of them stopped before the first mound. For a moment no one spoke and a look of great sadness swept over Elrond’s face followed by a brief spasm of pain, as if he remembered something terrible, and even Glorfindel, Estel noticed, looked grim, the light of Valinor dimmed in his eyes as if he too remembered something terrible about this place. Finally, Elrond regained control of himself and looked steadily at his foster son.

"Then, I imagine, this will be an appropriate place to meet our doom."

With that the elf-lord dismounted and the others followed suit, with Estel leading all four horses to a spot behind the second mound where they would hopefully remain hidden from the orcs and wargs. Then he joined the two elves on the top of the first mound, drawing his sword, even as Elrond had drawn his and Glorfindel had readied his bow.

"Now we wait," Glorfindel said quietly and then silence reigned about them as the sun slipped to the west. A slight breeze blew up and with it the rank smell of orc and warg was carried to them and they knew that the enemy was close.

Now even Estel’s mortal eyes could make out the shapes of the wargs running towards them at the point where they had left the road, and he swallowed nervously and tightened the grip on his sword, but otherwise made no other movement, remembering to breathe slowly as he’d been taught. When the wargs and orcs were only a few hundred feet from them Glorfindel began to loose his arrows with deadly accuracy, killing several of the wargs. At first Estel wondered at this for it seemed that there were fewer than fifteen wargs and more than twice that many orcs, but on further reflection he realized that the wargs, as few as they were, were the greater threat.

The death of the wargs did not slow the enemy down, however, and some of the orcs began to spread out on either side of the mounds.

"They mean to surround us," commented Glorfindel calmly as he continued to shoot his arrows. "As soon as I run out of arrows, I’ll move to the other side of the mound and take care of any goblins foolish enough to try to climb it."

"What of the horses?" Estel asked.

Glorfindel shook his head. "They will have to fend for themselves. Tologyll and Asfaloth are battle trained and will protect the other two. We cannot worry about them when we must worry about ourselves first."

"Here they come," Elrond said, shifting his sword to the ready position. Estel followed suit, even as Glorfindel threw down his now useless bow and unsheathed his own sword, Daenagnir, moving to stand behind them.

"Gurth an Glamhoth!" he cried, repeating Tuor’s ancient battle-cry.

The first wave of orcs was now climbing up the mound at a tremendous pace, swifter than Estel thought they could manage and before he could take two more breaths they were upon him, screaming horrendously.

After that there was no time to think, only to react. He vaguely remembered cutting down one orc and then another, but after that it all became a blur, except that it seemed that no sooner had he killed one of the orcs than two more took its place and after a time his sword arm began to tire, though he did not stop.

Elrond and Glorfindel, on the other hand, were less fatigued, and their sword play was more economical and deadlier than Estel’s, for both Elves had had several millennia in which to perfect their techniques and no movement was wasted. Still, in spite of their superior skill, there were too many of the enemy and it was just a matter of time before they were brought down.

Estel did not fear dying, for it was always a possibility whenever he went out on patrol with the Dúnedain and his brothers, but he regretted not having gotten to visit Thranduil’s kingdom and he worried briefly for his mother waiting for him in Imladris. It was this last thought that was nearly his undoing, for he hesitated only for a brief second as his mother’s face flashed before his eyes and he was distracted enough to miss parrying the attack of a particularly large orc slavering before him in bloodlust. Then everything slowed down and he felt a searing pain somewhere below his chest. He vaguely heard his adar calling his name, but could not seem to find the energy to answer. Everything began to turn red and black and he thought he might have collapsed to his knees but it didn’t seem to matter. He no longer even cared about the orc that had been standing in front of him.

As quickly as the world slowed down it began to speed up again and he saw Elrond leap before him and cut down the orc that had skewered him. Then, there was a noise that he couldn’t quite place and Glorfindel was shouting something that made no sense.

"Tiro! iMrýg ar i theryn! Telir an edraith ammen!"

And in the last moments before losing consciousness, Estel, who had fallen so that he was now facing north, beheld a sight he never thought to see. Three huge bears, each nearly as tall as himself at the shoulder, came lumbering across the fields and with them two mighty eagles swooped from the skies, charging into the ranks of the orcs and wargs with a fury that knew no bounds. As Estel felt his sword slip from his fingers and the world turn grey he wondered if he would live long enough to thank the bears and eagles for saving his adar and Glorfindel. Then, he knew no more.

****

It was his adar’s voice that called him out of darkness, though the words made little sense.

"....below the chest but missed the lungs. I do not know why he faltered, though I knew he was quickly tiring."

"He’s alive, that’s all that matters at the moment."

That was Glorfindel and Estel felt oddly pleased that he recognized the elf’s voice, but did not feel strong enough to comment on it. And the pain was horrendous. He must have made a noise or moved or something for suddenly he felt his adar’s hand gently caressing him and the pain grew less though it did not leave entirely. He tried to open his eyes, but the effort was too much, so he simply lay there.

Then another voice that he did not know spoke, deep and growling and even somewhat threatening, though its words were kind. "The wound does not look deep. We can take you to Rhosgobel where he can be better tended."

"A three-day trip," Elrond was saying. "He might not make it."

"Three days by horse," said the other voice, "but not by eagle."

There was a silence as the words sank in and Estel tried to speak, to let them know that traveling by eagle would not be his first choice, but he could not seem to find the strength and besides the gentle caress of his adar’s hand kept him still and content.

"So be it," he heard Elrond say and then darkness took him once again.

****

Cold air woke him a second time and he felt as if he were floating, though he did not seem to be wet. Wind swept past him and a deep thrumming filled his very being. He wondered if he was dead and if his fëa was even now winging its way to Mandos, but then he heard the screaming of eagles and thought that perhaps they were taking a detour to visit Manwë instead, though why the Elder King would be interested in meeting him was something he couldn’t quite understand and anyway, the strain of thinking was too much for him and he fell gratefully back into the darkness.

****

When he woke a third time it was to soft sunlight filtering through a bower of leaves. For a long moment he could not think where he was or how he had gotten there. He tried to remember the events leading up to this moment but his memory failed him. He blinked, attempting to focus more clearly and tried to sit up, but a hand, gentle yet firm, held him down.

"Not yet, youngling," said a strange voice that was nevertheless full of warmth and compassion. "You’ve had a bit of a time lately and I’ve just finished sewing you up. I don’t want you to go and spoil all the good work I’ve done on you." The voice chuckled in quiet humor and Estel finally turned his head to see to whom it belonged.

What he saw surprised him. A Man, or perhaps an Elf, it was hard to tell, dressed in warm brown robes with a garland of dead twigs on his head. Or, on second thought, perhaps it was a bird’s nest; Estel wasn’t quite sure which. There was however a bird, one of the small bluebirds common to the forests of Middle-earth, sitting on the man’s left shoulder and cheekily staring at him and making comments to the Man — or was he an Elf?

"Who...?"

The man smiled. "My name is Radagast."

The name meant nothing to Estel and it must have shown for Radagast quirked an eyebrow at him and gave him a wry smile.

"I see my fame precedes me."

"Sorry—" he said apologetically, feeling somehow uncouth but not knowing why, for he truly had never heard of Radagast.

"Now no need for that. I’m sure Elrond has his reasons..."

"Adar! Where is—" Estel struggled to sit up but the combination of the pain he felt and Radagast’s hand holding him down was too much and he collapsed back onto the bed.

"Whoa! Steady there boy, you’re not fit to sit up yet. If by adar you mean Lord Elrond, he and his companion are still a day’s ride from here, though I must say they made good time from Haudh-en-Nirsaer."

"Haudh-where?"

"Haudh-en-Nirsaer, or at least that’s what the elves of Eryn Lasgalen called it. It happened in the Second Age, long before I came here. Some elves from Lórien were attacked by orcs and were outnumbered. Woodsmen, seeing the attack, came to their rescue but they were too few themselves. None of the Elves or Men survived. When Elves from Eryn Lasgalen found their remains a day later they wept bitterly that they had come too late and built the mounds to commemorate the fallen, hence the name. But enough of history. You will forgive me but I don’t see the family resemblance."

"Huh?" The switch in the topic of conversation threw him.

"You don’t look anything like Elrond or his other children."

"I-I’m Lord Elrond’s foster son. My name is Ar- Estel. Yes, Estel." He knew that his true name had been hidden for a purpose, no sense blabbing it to all and sundry, especially to someone who was a complete stranger to him.

Radagast gave him a shrewd look. "You’re sure about that?"

Estel felt his face reddening, and not from any lingering fever, and nodded.

Radagast stared at Estel for a moment longer, then nodded, as if he had received an answer to an unspoken question. Estel, meanwhile, took the time to look about him.

What he saw was a room that seemed to be made out of living trees, the trunks closely placed in a circle yet he could see that the trunks did not touch one another. At the height of the lowest branches thickly woven curtains of bright hues hung on poles tied to the branches to provide privacy. The roof was a cone-shaped interlacing of the top branches, so thick that Estel doubted that any kind of weather could find its way through. Opposite to where he lay he could see that there was a wider space between two of the trees, providing a doorway that was also curtained for privacy.

"Where am I exactly?"

"Why you’re in Rhosgobel. You’ve surely heard of Rhosgobel even if you’ve never heard of me, haven’t you?" Estel wasn’t sure, but he thought he detected a hint of exasperation in the Man’s voice.

"Oh yes," Estel said brightly, glad that he could finally find something that would please this strange Man, if Man he was. "Adar mentioned it before we left Imladris. I think he meant to stop here before going on to Annon-e-Daur."

"Hmph." Radagast didn’t look too impressed by this and, as if agreeing, the little bluebird on his shoulder gave Estel a rude chirp before flying off into the trees.

After an awkward moment of silence Estel asked, "Uh, not to sound rude, but how did I get here anyway?"

"Eagle."

"Excuse me?"

"Eagle. Or more correctly Thorongil brought you and quite pleased with himself he was I must say."

"Who’s Thorongil?"

"The Eagle who brought you here," Radagast said impatiently, as if Estel were a not very bright student. "Rather young as Eagles go, but quite the warrior already. He insisted on bringing you to me himself. Said it was a matter of honor, although he neglected to say why." Radagast gave Estel another shrewd look, but this time Estel had no idea what he was talking about, so he simply shrugged, which was a mistake because the pain came rushing back, leaving him gasping for breath.

"I think that’s enough talking for now," Radagast said, laying a hand on Estel’s chest. The pain began to ebb away until it was just a dull throb. Estel began to breathe more easily. Radagast poured some water into a goblet and helped him to sit up enough to take a drink. Afterwards he lay back down, suddenly feeling all over tired.

"Sleep now Estel Elrondion," Radagast said gently. "When you awaken, you will find your adar waiting for you."

Estel nodded and closed his eyes. In moments he was asleep. Radagast sat next to the bed watching the young Man’s breathing slow. "Yes, young Estel, sleep," he whispered. "Or should I say ‘sleep, Isildurchil’?"

****

Gloruilos: Gold-(ever)white. Elrond’s sword, originally Turgon’s, was taken out of Gondolin by Idril, his grandmother and given to his father, Eärendil. When Eärendil left on his final voyage, he gave the sword to Elwing for safekeeping. After the sack of Ethir Sirion by Maglor and Maedhros, the sword came to Celeborn, who kept it until he was able to give it to Elrond during the War of Wrath. [The sword of Turgon is never named however I gave it this name based on the description from Unfinished Tales, "Of Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin", note 31, in which Christopher Tolkien gives us his father’s synopsis of the story beyond where it leaves off. Turgon is described as meeting Tuor carrying a "white and gold sword in a ruel-bone (ivory) sheath". The description of its lineage is purely my own invention.]

Tiro! iMrýg ar i theryn! Telir an edraith ammen!: 'Look! Bears and eagles! They come to save us!', literally, 'they come for the saving of us'.

Daenagnir: Shadowsbane. As with Elrond's sword, I have given Glorfindel's sword an appropriate name.

Gurth an Glamhoth!: 'Death to the Din-horde!', Tuor’s curse (UT/39, 54) and battle-cry, and no doubt remembered by Glorfindel.

Haudh-en-Nirsaer: Mound of Bitter Tears, site of an imagined battle in the 2^nd Age, when Sauron was overwhelming Eriador, between Lórien elves, their allies, the Woodsmen, and orcs, in which the elves and Woodsmen were defeated. The elves of Eryn Lasgalen came too late to save them, hence the name. This ancient battle, of course, is my own invention for the purposes of this story.

Isildurchil: Isildur’s Heir.