Chapter 27  Mirkwood Invaded

The tinkling sound of glass shattering on the stone tiles of the dining hall stunned everyone into silence. The look of horror on Thranduil’s face was not a result of the goblet falling from his hand; it was born when unseeing eyes turned southwards as Galadriel’s scream of rage filled his mind.

“Beware Oropherion; Dol Guldur dares to attack Lothlórien. Mirkwood will be next.”

The warning was brief, and although he had expected this day to come, he felt as if its arrival was far too sudden.

“What is it, Sire? ” asked his concerned Steward, mistakenly judging by the glazed look in the King’s eyes that he was farspeaking with Elrond, as he had seen him do in the past. Thranduil felt the gentle touch on his arm and quickly regained his focus and looked around at the many worried faces.

“Lothlórien is under attack!” he declared loud enough for all to hear. There was a collective gasp at the shocking news followed by much murmuring among those in the dining hall, and all eyes turned to their King.

“Have no fear, Sauron will not take the Golden Wood, nor will we allow him victory over Greenwood the Great.” His deliberate use of their forest’s true name, spoken with the full force of his power and majesty reassured everyone, and they cheered loudly. Following Thranduil’s example, the meal was resumed and soon the hall was again filled with laughter and chatter, albeit somewhat more subdued. The King spoke quietly with his general and asked him to have the captains meet him later in his library. It was time to discuss battle plans.

An air of uneasiness settled over Mirkwood, but the Elves remained calm in the face of their fears as they began preparations to defend their home. The telain where most of them had chosen to live were abandoned in favour of the safe haven of the underground dwellings that formed part of the palace, and riders were sent to the outer patrols to warn them of the imminent danger and to instruct them to move to reinforce the southern borders. Tathar had insisted on being one of the messengers, and it was with a heavy heart that Thranduil watched him go for he was reminded of his son’s absence. His heart told him that Legolas was alive and well, but he was very far from home and Thranduil could not help but wish that his son was back in Mirkwood preparing to fight by his Adar’s side as many others were also doing.

Although he had regretted the fact in the past, he was grateful now that there were no longer any Elves under the age of majority in Mirkwood. All who lived here were well able to defend themselves, for he had insisted that both males and females were trained in archery or swordsmanship. A small smile curve the corners of his mouth as he recalled Tathar teasing Legolas that all the maidens chose to learn archery merely to be close to the prince, who had undertaken the task of tutoring those not destined to become warriors. Legolas had scoffed at the notion, replying that his Adar, who took charge of the lessons when Legolas was away on patrol, was far more likely the cause of the interest in the bow.

For all his outward certainty, the King could not help but think that it was likely the Elves were severely outnumbered by the dark forces from the south. There would be many lives lost in battle and this worry caused sleep to elude him. He knew that he needed to take some rest and that it was necessary that he be fully alert when war came, and so after three days without slumber, he added a small amount of the sleeping draught that Elrond had given him to his wine, and quickly fell into reverie. The potion prevented his nightmares of Dagorlad from haunting his rest, but he woke with a puzzled frown as he could almost taste the smoke and ash that was the last remnant of Sauron on that battlefield. With growing alarm he realised there was an unmistakeable scent of smoke in the air, and a thin finger of pain tore into his heart. He did not even have the chance to rise from his bed before a distraught Tathar, his fair hair, face and clothes covered in black, grimy soot burst into his chambers.

“The forest is on fire!” he declared in wide-eyed terror.

“Tell me what you saw,” the King instructed Tathar as he quickly donned his warrior’s garb and armed himself with both bow and sword.

 “I was with the southernmost patrol when we saw a few Orcs approaching, and assumed them to be merely scouts. Naturally we moved to deal with them, but whilst we occupied in the battle, several managed to climb the trees and set them alight. It was a strange kind of fire, one that seemed to pass rapidly from tree to tree on little more that a wisp of air,” he said as tears filled his eyes. “We were filled with despair as the trees cried out in pain but knew there was nothing we could do to stop the fire spreading. I was forced to leave the patrol to bring warning,” said Tathar, slumping onto the edge of the bed in exhaustion. Thranduil now recognised his pain for what it was… the loss of his beloved trees and he closed his eyes and offered a silent lament. He placed a comforting hand on the younger Elf’s shoulder and offered him a cup of water to settle his nerves. Tathar drank thirstily, and then at Thranduil’s silent command, he followed him to meet with the general and his captains. Several more riders had made their way back and offered similar reports to Tathar’s, the last one adding an even more unwelcome piece of news.

“The orcs are apparently unaffected by the thick smoke and are using it as a cover to move unseen into our midst,” reported the rider.

“It seems I have gravely underestimated the Dark One, this is not the kind of attack I expected,” admitted Thranduil, suddenly wondering whether the flames were assisted by some kind of dark spell. He actually hoped this was the case, for although he could not save the outer reaches of the forest, no dark magic could penetrate the heart of his realm. He would not allow it to do so.

“None of us could foresee such an atrocity. No Elf would ever consider using the trees as a weapon,” said the General.

“Nay, we would not, although we did plan on using the trees to hide our archers. This can no longer be done, at least outside the circle of my protection. Send word to move them back away from the danger of the fires, and replace them with our swordsman,” he told his captains all of whom were nodding agreement with the necessary change in plans. His general was the only one to look a bit dubious and not entirely comfortable with allowing the Orcs to approach so closely. Thranduil spared him a tight smile.

“It is our only choice, mellon nin. Sauron may not be as clever as he thinks. By forcing us to concentrate our forces we stand a much better chance of defeating his minions. Once we have done so, we will reclaim our borders,” he reassured the warrior who had fought beside Oropher at Dagorlad.

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Thranduil’s words proved to be true, and after the fierce battle had ended, the only smoke hanging over Mirkwood was that of the fires that had been lit to burn the corpses of the enemy. In the aftermath of battle, sweet, sad laments were sung for the Elven dead, and none could keep the tears from their eyes when the trees that remained added a soft rustling melody of their own.

Lothlórien had been attacked again as the battle under the trees of Mirkwood raged, but after repelling the forces of Sauron for third time, Celeborn and Galadriel led the Galadhrim across the Anduin, and attacked the dark fortress of Dol Guldur.

This time when Galadriel’s sweet voice filled his mind, it was a joyous cry of victory.