Chapter Nine:  The nature of the Shadow

Galithil turned on the branch he shared with Legolas and Tulus so that he could better see the battle. The shift in position left him hugging the wizened old tree, clinging to it, to be honest. Its bark pressed into his cheek as he watched the remaining orc charge his father. Aradunnon was pointing at Galithil and shouting something, but somehow Galithil could not hear what his father was saying. All he could hear was the snarling of orcs and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

The orc reached Aradunnon, its sword raised high for a vicious blow. As the orc's blade fell, Aradunnon reacted reflexively, raising his own sword to force the orc's blade down , while using his forward momentum to turn the blow to the side. The orc's attack did not even cause Aradunnon to pause in his rush to reach his son. But even as Galithil released the breath he was holding in relief, he recognized his father's mistake: he had deflected the orc's attack, but he had not killed it. That might have been enough if Colloth had been with him. But Colloth lay, face down, across the body of the orc that had cut his shoulder. Tulus had shot that orc. Galithil looked over his shoulder at Tulus now--his attention was still focused on the orcs beneath the tree. Galithil turned back to his father. The orc attacking Aradunnon had recovered its balance and reversed the swing of its sword, aiming it at Aradunnon's back as he charged past.

"Ada, look out," Galithil shouted.

Bark dug into Galithil's cheek as he watched the orc's sword strike his father in the side hard enough to made him stagger. Aradunnon's gaze remained fixed on Galithil as his expression registered surprise and then, not pain or anger or even fear, as Galithil expected to see, but rather grief. Aradunnon rolled onto his back as he fell, clearly struggling to raise his sword to parry another blow. The orc stood over him, sword over his head and poised to bring it down. But the sword fell from the orc's grasp as he contorted from the force of three arrows biting into him--one from the opposite side of the battle field, loosed by Dolgailon, and two from the tree, one shot by Tulus and the other by Galithil.

The orc standing over Aradunnon crumpled to the ground next to him. At the same time, the hilt of Aradunnon's sword slipped through his fingers and the blade tipped forward, falling onto the forest floor. Aradunnon did not move.

"No," Galithil whispered, again leaning against the tree as his bow fell to his side. He might have collapsed if the gnarled, old tree had not been propping him up. Suddenly he felt as if he were alone. He felt as he did in the lower halls of the stronghold, where there was no light and none of the teeming presence of life that the forest held--only silence. He stepped onto another branch of the tree, moving towards his father.

A rough hand grabbed his arm and he heard a voice, as if from a great distance, ordering him to stay where he was, but he did not heed it. Then, slightly more clearly, he registered Legolas calling Tulus's name. The hand grasping his arm pulled back hard, dragging Galithil onto the original branch and forcing him to focus lest he lose his footing on the slick, moss-covered limbs of the withered tree. Galithil's breath caught when he finally looked down on the scene around him. Three orcs stood beneath the tree, each with bows. One was aiming directly at Legolas, who was entirely exposed as Tulus tried to control Galithil. Tulus was now stepping in front of Legolas while raising his bow, but the hand needed to draw the bow still grasped Galithil's arm. Galithil shifted instantly towards Tulus, trying to show him that he would remain in place so Tulus would feel free to let go and draw his bow. Tulus got the message. He released Galithil and reached for an arrow.

But it was too late. The orc released his arrow and it flew straight at them, striking Tulus in the side, just above his hip. The force of the arrow knocked Tulus back. Legolas loosed a sharp cry of surprise because, Galithil assumed, he was also thrown back hard against the tree trunk, pinned between it and Tulus's body. The arrowhead lodged in the tree a hair's width away from Legolas's side. His cousin stared at it eyes wide and mouth open slightly.

Tulus's feet slipped on the slimy moss and his knees buckled. He slid to a half-sitting, half-crouching position on the branch, grunting softly when the motion pulled the arrow, still lodged in his side, free of the tree. Even as Galithil and Legolas reached to steady Tulus so he would not fall from the tree, Galithil realized Tulus would have to keep himself on the branch. The orcs were again aiming at them. Legolas tried to offer Tulus some support with one leg, as he leaned against the trunk to balance himself and reached for an arrow. Galithil did the same, but even as he did, he heard his father's voice in his mind admonishing him that they could not hunt from the trees because Galithil had not yet learned the skills necessary to shoot from them--anchor point and draw were completely different due to the angle of the shot. As he tried to draw his bow while aiming at the orcs below the tree, Galithil realized his father was completely correct. He could not fully draw his bow. He shifted the way he held it, struggling for a shot that might do them some good. Legolas was doing the same. In the end, both their arrows flew awkwardly from their bowstrings, striking the orcs and making them pause, but not penetrating their leather armor.

Worse, while they had shifted about, Tulus had slumped further and was now slipping from the branch. His fingers clawed vainly at the mossy branch. Legolas and Galithil both reached to steady him, but their efforts were not enough. Tulus fell to the ground at the base of the tree. Galithil looked at Legolas and for a second, they locked gazes. The orcs were too close to the tree to shoot them from the ground, but clearly neither Legolas or Galithil could shoot them from the trees either. And Tulus did not have time for them to experiment with a few more shots. The orc closest to them was advancing on Tulus as he struggled to push himself into a standing position against the trunk of the tree and draw his sword. The other two orcs were about to release arrows aimed at Legolas and Galithil in the tree.

Legolas clenched his jaw and drew the long knife he was carrying from its sheath on his belt. Both Legolas and Galithil jumped from the tree, arrows whizzing over their heads as they did. Legolas slapped the sword of the approaching orc down with the knife as he landed next to Tulus and took advantage of the orc's surprise to jab at him. Galithil pulled Tulus's sword from his weak hands and brandished it at the orc. It automatically took a step back, assuming a defensive posture.

"Run. Get out of here," Tulus rasped.

The orc bared its teeth in a grotesque imitation of a smile as it appraised its opponents. But, eyes wide with fear and barely able to breath, both Legolas and Galithil stood their ground, unwilling to leave Tulus.

There was a sharp thud, quickly followed by two more similar sounds. The three orcs threatening Tulus, Galithil and Legolas screeched and were thrown to the ground by the force of three arrows. Galithil spun around. Dolgailon and his guard, Galudiron, were running towards them. Galithil turned again, in almost a full circle, looking for orcs that might catch his brother at unawares, but he saw only elves--warriors and villagers--tending the wounded. From the flet they had been trying to reach, Galithil glimpsed Anastor and Noruil peeking from behind the flet's railing and staring at him. But Galithil had no thoughts to spare for Anastor or Noruil. Seeing no further danger around himself, he turned to where he had last seen his father, hoping to see some of the warriors helping him to his feet. The place where Aradunnon had fallen was surrounded by a group of elves that blocked Galithil's view of anything that might be happening there.

He took two running steps in that direction, only to be brought up short by Galudiron. Galithil scowled and tried to dodge around the guard, but Galudiron caught him by the shoulders and held him in place.

"Stay with us," he ordered in a soft voice. "Stay here."

Galithil pulled back, trying to free himself.

"Stay here and help me," Dolgailon's voice pleaded.

That caused Galithil to pause and look at his brother. Dolgailon was kneeling on the ground, supporting Tulus and inspecting his wound. Galithil watched--he would have preferred to look away, but found he could not--as Dolgailon stripped Tulus's tunic off him, snapped the shaft of the arrow still protruding from Tulus's side in a swift motion and pulled it from the wound. Tulus closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as Dolgailon pressed the tunic hard against his side.

"Hold this here," Dolgailon ordered, reaching to pull Galithil to his side.

Galithil quickly knelt next to Tulus and held the cloth against his wound, cringing slightly when Tulus flinched. Dolgailon and Galudiron were inspecting the shaft and arrowhead of the arrow. It was painted with something black. That sight caused Dolgailon's face to flood with fear.

"Poisoned," he whispered, looking at Tulus.

Tulus, his eyes still closed tightly, only nodded. Dolgailon turned and his gaze darted over Galithil sharply.

"I was not hit," Galithil managed. He found he barely had enough breath to speak.

Dolgailon turned to inspect Legolas.

Legolas could not have been wounded either, Galithil thought. He had been behind Tulus when the arrow struck him and lodged in the tree. And Legolas had shot his bow at the orcs; he had tried to keep Tulus from falling; and he had jumped from the tree with his knife drawn when Tulus did fall. Thinking those actions must surely mean Legolas was not injured, Galithil openly gasped when he looked at his cousin. A bright red stain soaked his side and his tunic and undershirt were sliced, as if by a knife.

"We need medicine," Dolgailon said, pressing his hand against Legolas's side.

Legolas sucked in his breath sharply in surprise and looked down at Dolgailon's hand. His jaw fell open when he saw the blood on his tunic.

*~*~*

Thranduil watched the terrain in front of him as he and his line of warriors drove the orcs they were pursuing northward. The orcs had recognized the trap they were heading into and were desperately trying to resist being pushed forward. Instead they tried to break through the elves' lines or outrun them before the trap could be sprung. That suited Thranduil fine. He much preferred facing these orcs himself. The more orcs that attacked the trained warriors, the more that would die before they reached the unskilled villagers. But Thranduil knew they must be very close to the village. He had seen signs of where the villagers gathered foodstuffs and laid their traplines.  So he was watching to make sure his line of warriors would be properly positioned to meet up with the village guards that should, according to Ostarndor, be waiting for them.

Conuiön caught his eye as Thranduil pushed a gutted orc off his sword. The guard gestured towards a space between the trees and Thranduil immediately saw what he was indicating. He raised his eyebrows in surprise as he turned another orc's attack with his sword and stabbed it in the neck with the knife he held in his off hand. Thranduil had expected the village guards to meet the attack of oncoming orcs from relatively safer positions in the trees. Instead he saw a shield wall, at least twenty elves wide, on the ground a few dozen paces in front of them. At least they have shields, Thranduil thought.

The orcs moved forward a short distance further before they also saw the trap close around them. As soon as the first orc spotted the villagers, a flood of them tried to force through the narrow gap still available between the lines of warriors that had been driving them and the shield wall. Thranduil and Conuiön, at the front of the western line of warriors, moved to prevent as many as they could from escaping, but their efforts were unnecessary. Arrows rained down from the trees at the fleeing orcs, making that escape route impossible.

Almost as surprised as the orcs, Thranduil and Conuiön looked up. Thranduil blinked at the sight he saw--a flet with female archers lining its railing. Indeed, three flets in row defended by ellyth, with the shield wall directly below them. Thranduil's breath caught when he thought he glimpsed Amoneth amongst the ellyth. He spared a moment longer to study the flets and his heart lurched when he saw both Pendurion and Hurion, the two guards that had accompanied Lindomiel south. If they were both in the flet.... Thranduil saw a flash of gold between the two guards but, before he could be certain it was Lindomiel, a charging orc demanded his attention.

The orcs that were not struck by the ellyth's arrows recoiled backwards, into the center of the triangle of elves that now surrounded them. Immediately, arrows flew from behind the shield wall, targeting the orcs as they turned all directions, seeking a means of escape. Some orcs snarled, their faces contorted in rage, and drew their bows to return the villagers' attack while their bowless comrades held up their shields for whatever little protection they might offer. Others madly charged the lines of warriors, trying again to punch through them.

As Thranduil fended off attacks from these orcs and managed his line to keep it tight when warriors fell, he tried to ignore the sounds of arrows striking the flet above him and took comfort from the fact that arrows from the flet continued to fall. But more than once he heard distinctly feminine cries of pain as the orcish archers hit their targets. Each time he heard such a sound, he could not help but look up at the flet. More and more black arrows protruded from its railings, floor and roof.

But the orcs' numbers were swiftly diminishing. Many fewer orcs pressed against the lines of warriors now than when the trap had been sprung. Soon only a handful of orcish archers continued to assail the flet and shield wall. A final hail of arrows took down all but a few of these. The remaining orcs screeched angrily, flung aside their bows, drew their swords and charged a single point of Ostarndor's line of warriors. Thranduil watched with satisfaction as these orcs fell. He scanned the battlefield, aware that Ostarndor and one of the ellyn from the village that commanded the shield wall were doing the same. No orcs remained standing. Thranduil released a long breath.

"See to the wounded," he ordered the lieutenant next to him. The elf acknowledged the order with a quick bow and ran off down the line of warriors to take account of the injuries. "Destroy any orcs still alive and build fires to burn the bodies," Thranduil said to the group of warriors standing nearest to him. They immediately spread out, picking carefully through the orcs lying on the forest floor. Ostarndor had apparently issued similar orders to his warriors, for several of them moved off to the same tasks on their side of the battlefield. The villagers that had formed the shield wall were tending to their wounded themselves. Thranduil started towards them to ensure they had the necessary medicines and skills. As he walked, Conuiön at his shoulder, he looked up at the flets, hoping to see...well, honestly, hoping not to see Lindomiel. He much preferred to think that his wife was not here, but rather safely in the location of the new village. And that thought made him feel guilty, because he was certain he had seen his brother's wife amongst the female archers. He did not want to think of Amoneth fighting either, or any of the village's ellyth, for that matter. But he could not deny they had served an integral role in the defeat of the orcs.

Thinking these thoughts, Thranduil was brought up short when, instead of Lindomiel or Amoneth, he saw Amglaur waving him to the flet.

"Turn command over to someone else and come up here, lord Thranduil," Amglaur called urgently.

Thranduil broke into a run towards the rope ladder hanging from the flet.

He climbed it swiftly, Conuiön on his heels. As he ascended, Thranduil forced himself to be calm and reach out for the connection he shared with his wife. He could not help but exhale forcefully when he felt her strong presence. But focusing on his familial bond, he realized something was definitely amiss. He felt distress, grief, and a disturbingly familiar emptiness.

"What has happened?" he demanded of Amglaur as he pulled himself onto the flet from the ladder. As he spoke, his gaze darted about, searching for Lindomiel.

"In here," Amglaur answered, leading him off the balcony of the flet and into the little dwelling, where they had taken the injured ellyth.

Thranduil's jaw clenched reflexively. He had seen many wounded warriors in his life. He had even seen female warriors wounded. But the sight never failed to make him angry and sick at the same time. 

Amglaur led him towards the back corner of the flet. Lindomiel was there, her back turned to him. She was leaning over an elleth propped up on a cushion against the wall. Pendurion, Hurion and Amoneth's guard, Galuauth, stood around her. The scene looked like all the others in the flet--an injured elleth being tended to by family and friends. But Lindomiel's posture--the tension in her shoulders--told Thranduil something was very wrong. He closed the distance between himself and his wife in three long strides. Galuauth looked up at his approach and quickly looked down again.

"I am so sorry, my lord," he whispered.

Thranduil frowned at him and knelt next to Lindomiel. As he feared, Amoneth was the elleth propped up on the pillows. Thranduil's frown deepened. Amoneth's eyes stared vacantly, but she did not quite look as if she were sleeping. She looked as if she were.... Thranduil's gaze darted over Amoneth's body. She bore a single arrow wound to her left shoulder, under her collar bone--too low to have broken the bone and too high to have pierced her lung. It could not possibly be a fatal wound. Thranduil looked at Lindomiel. Her eyes were full of tears that she had apparently managed to hold back until now. Thranduil looked up at the guards.

"What happened here?" he asked. When they offered no reply, Thranduil grew angry. He looked back at Amoneth and spotted the arrow they had removed from her shoulder. It was covered in a black, oily substance. Poison. Thranduil snatched it up and studied it. It did look like the poison that caused bleeding, from what he could tell, but Amoneth did not appear to have bled much at all. No more than normal for such a wound. He looked back at Lindomiel. Tears were now silently trailing down her cheek. "She cannot be..." he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Oh Thranduil," Lindomiel said, leaning against his shoulder. "She was right next to me. She said it was not bad when Galuauth took her into the flet. But it is almost as if she did not even try...I do not understand how this could happen. Why it would happen..."

Thranduil gathered Lindomiel into his arms and held her as she cried quietly. He looked to Galuauth, his expression clearly demanding an explanation.

The guard's brow furrowed. "Exactly as the lady said, my lord. Her injury is not bad, as you can see. But as I took her back into the flet, I could tell she suffered from more than just the arrow wound. She faded before my eyes. I have never seen anything like it and I cannot explain it. She was gone almost before I had removed the arrow."

Thranduil felt his heart race. Galuauth was the youngest member of his guard, born after the War of the Last Alliance. Thranduil doubted the young elf had seen much death. But Thranduil had. He had seen many an elf not willing to stay in this world when a dear one had left it for Mandos. But Amoneth had little close kin still in Arda and only one family member in immediate danger. Thranduil fearfully searched for any hint of his brother's presence and closed his eyes when he found nothing.

"Thranduil there is more you should know," Amglaur said quietly after Thranduil had held Lindomiel for several minutes. He gestured for him to follow him outside.

Thranduil looked up at his father-in-law. "I would prefer to stay with Lindomiel," he protested irritably.
Amglaur silently shook his head and gestured again for Thranduil to follow him.

Scowling, Thranduil kissed Lindomiel's forehead and promised to return shortly.

"I understand, Thranduil," she said. She leaned over and hugged Amoneth's body. Then she stood, wiping the tears from her face. "I should try to help the villagers myself. There will be much to do to get the wounded ready to move to the new village."

Thranduil grimaced slightly at that, but he could no more deny her right to perform her duties than he could ignore his own. He kissed her again and followed Amglaur from the flet.

"What is so important?" he demanded as soon as they reached the balcony. As Amglaur turned to face him, Thranduil realized his father-in-law was supposed to be in the capital. "What are you doing here?" he added.

"Hallion sent me," Amglaur replied. "To find Legolas and Galithil. They, along with Anastor and Noruil, followed you south."

Thranduil gripped the railing of the balcony for support. "They are here?" he asked.

Amglaur shook his head. "I was not sure if they went to Aradunnon's village or followed Dannenion and Dolwon to Selwon's. They are not here, so I assume they all must be in Selwon's village. I started to go there when I did not find them here, but there was a battle there too and I could not get close enough to the village."

Thranduil stared at Amglaur, his mind refusing to understand what he had just said.

"I think we should make another attempt to reach the village and find them," Amglaur added.

Thranduil did not answer him. He simply turned and descended the rope ladder. He was on the ground calling for a horse before Amglaur and Conuiön could make it to the ladder.

*~*~*

Adar/ada -- Father/dad
Elleth/ellyth -- Female elf/elves