italics indicate thoughts
(elvish translations in parentheses)
This chapter un-Beta'd
Anc-en-Gurth (The Teeth of Death)
* Part Two - Winter War *
Winter's first blast of chilling breath always brought the enemy forth, for like Elves the Orcs little felt the cold and the lack of verdant cover made their quarry easier to track. In this initial advance of the annual campaign, as warmth vanished into the occluded skies over the vast expanse of denuded branches, as the frozen land contracted around roots and compressed seeds, Tawar slept. The omnipresent entity fell into the long, dreaming hibernation triggered by the withdrawal of Anor's light, only a small portion of sentient thought still active among the evergreens, but even this awareness was sluggish and disjointed, functioning in slender pockets and slices of the woodland realm, isolated from the long reach of rhizomes and fibres that connected them to the rest of the wooded world.
Ancient and untouchable, removed from the threat of Melkor's evil plots and schemes by virtue of his indifferent disdain, Tawar remained unacknowledged and thus was never accounted of any importance by the Dark Vala. Though ravaging fires spawned by his violence were common enough, these were propagated more to harry the Elves than to kill the trees, and never did he strive to utterly strip Arda of the forests. Strange that was, for had he destroyed every green thing, how then would any living creation of Iluvatar flourish? Even the twisted creatures Melkor wrought with his terrors and his torments depended on that fragile envelop of air clinging to the world, its valleys draped and its peaks sheathed with that impalpable, evanescent veil exhaled by the trees.
Wise was Yavanna and close to the heart of Eru; through her designs had come the very key to the existence of all life. From the smallest plants adrift in the rolling seas to the mightiest of the tallest trees, green life breathed for Arda. So slender was the sleeve of air about the world, so tenuous the misty ether that gave breath to all of life, yet every bit of it came into being from the respiring plants, be they minute or majestic. What an effort that was to manifest and great was Yavanna's toil, and while many accounted Laurelin and Telperion her finest masterpieces, it was not so. She was content to keep her pride hidden and rejoiced in the quiet confines of her inner heart. But for her green growing things, the fullness of the Music of the Ainur could never have been realised.
So cleverly concealed was the Goddess' magnificent art that Melkor never even attempted to warp her grand invention. Balrogs mimicked the Maiar, Orcs were patterned on Elves, Trolls were but misshapen and mal-intended Dwarves, but there was no antithesis to the trees. Turn them he might have done but didn't; infect some with poisonous darkness Sauron eventually did, yet there was no evil counterpart to plant-life striving to suffocate the earth.
This few noticed, save the Wood Elves who remarked it almost at once. Is it any wonder their reverence and love for Tawar developed so fully? Here was Arda's most powerful entity, incorrupt.
Not until Sauron slunk beneath the trees did Shadow take note of Greenwood anew and gradually changed that. Melkor's successor developed a deep hatred for the sylvan Elves abiding there, and for Thranduil in particular, for they opposed him despite their fear of his Black Tower. He could neither destroy them nor drive them out, and when he abandoned Dol Guldur he left it in the keeping of Orcs and men who still worshipped him. In time, he sent his Wraiths to organise them. Together they gave the woodland Elves no peace and Greenwood darkened, sullied by Shadow, inviolate no more.
So it was that in winter, though Tawar would not have it so, Greenwood became a fertile hunting ground for the Orcs of Dol Guldur and their masters. This annual hunt was the bane of the Wood Elves and the reason the population had not rebounded as well as it might after the devastation of the Last Alliance. Hoping to spare as many of his people as he could, Thranduil was eventually forced to exhort his subjects to abandon the greater part of the forest and retreat into the furthest reaches of Greenwood's northern bounds.
Ever since, when the snows came those of the people with children moved their families into the stronghold for the duration of the season. The underground fortress burgeoned with folk from the scattered colonies throughout the northern reaches of the woods' extent and the Mountain Amid the Trees rang with song and laughter and the noise of young ones at play. The warriors went out to meet the Enemy; the rest looked after the children, but even these folk were prepared to fight should need demand it. Should the mountain be invaded, the children would be led through secret paths out of the fortress to flee through the densely covered heights skirting Ered Mithrin. From there they would go west to Anduin and seek shelter with Beorn and Radagast.
The escape plan had never been utilised and with the emergence of the Tawarwaith, hope returned to the Wood Elves. Deliverance was at hand. The Nazgûl would be defeated and the Tower destroyed now that Legolas was relieved of the burden of the Tasks. While it would be good to believe the woodland people loved their champion because of the quality of his character, it was more honest to admit they loved him most for his unflinching tenacity, his unmitigated hatred of the evil infecting Tawar.
This year, in which so much sorrow had been overcome by joy, as their Tawarwaith regained his rightful place in the community, as the snow whirled and the temperature plunged, the folk of the woods gathered their progeny and herded them into the fortress. The inner doors were shut tight and bolted. Sentries kept vigil from the wall of the Great Gates and the city stood empty, grim and silent in the dark. The secret way was checked and torches lit along its length. Everyone capable of wielding a weapon was armed. Should the unthinkable happen and the Wraiths' forces defeat their Tawarwaith, the people were ready.
The Nazgul had a clear and definite purpose: they had been sent to Dol Guldur to search for the Ring. Thranduil's vaults were a likely possibility. Suffice it to say they had captured and tortured numerous elves without learning anything useful about the contents of that treasure trove. The Wraiths had never caught anyone belonging to the King's inner circle and even these few had never been inside the caverns or seen the riches therein. They had concluded that either the Ring was not in those cavernous chambers or the Wood Elves were exceptionally well-conditioned to withstand phenomenal levels of pain and torment. That left them with Sauron's secondary desire: destruction of Greenwood as a kingdom and scattering of the forces of Thranduil. This objective they pursued with great relish, if no small amount of frustration. The sylvans simply would not back down and Thranduil seemed as immune to death as the Nazgul themselves.
This year the Shadow-slaves desired a new achievement foremost: to seize the Tawarwaith. They sensed the turmoil in Greenwood and felt an instinctive dread at the thought of the soul-stealing Sindarin King reclaiming his outcast son and joining forces with the forest champion, forging allegiance with the folk of the Golden Wood against them, the woodsmen added as an expendable fighting force. So their intelligence warned was happening. It was to crush this confederation that they amassed so great an army to march upon Thranduil's city so early in the season; indeed, before the season had even begun.
Legolas was their true target for this and for personal reasons. Long had they borne the abuse and interference of this unprecedented lone avenger. He had escaped through their net of Orcish soldiers, aided by unexpected allies from Imladris and by the meddling grey wizard. Now he was safe in Thranduil's city and reinforcments from Lorien had arrived as well. So be it; they would lure him from the safety of the elven realm.
Now the Tawarwaith was certainly cognisant of the numerous reasons for their plots and schemes, few elves knew as much about them as he, but there were other concerns with which his heart and mind were wholly consumed. Lindalcon's whereabouts was chief among them. He little thought of the Nazgul except to relegate them to the battle at hand and Talagan's able troops. His chief concern was seeing to it Lindalcon did not run afoul of the corrupt spectres.
He'd hoped to reach Lindalcon before now, but the young warrior had been out wandering around for days and like any Wood Elf left no trace of his passing. This was the night of the fourth day the Tawarwaith had been abroad in the winter woods and the only good thing he could attribute to the time was the healing of his shoulder wound. Now only an irritating stiffness remained, making drawing his bow to full weight uncomfortable. To make matters more perilous, the Orcs were on the march in great numbers; several troops had passed beneath Legolas as he slipped through the high canopy. Normally, Legolas would take enjoyment from picking them off and taunting them into chasing him through the traps, but he refrained, not wanting to attract attention to his solitary search.
He had a fair idea of where to go to find his young, misguided, and probably terrified heart-brother. Too well he knew the paths easiest to locate and use were now often more treacherous than the savage scars wrought over the forest floor by the constant tramp and stamp of Orc troops scouring the woods for game and Elves. So many of the trees had been turned and those that were still ensconced in the Spirit of the Great Wood were becoming more and more isolated, unable to help much in times of need, even less so now in the depths of their winter sleep. He had already tried to get through to them, hoping to wake the trees and send a vision to Lindalcon of the right path, but the effort failed.
He was inclined hurry, faulting himself for the delay at Malthen's grave, but forced to go carefully in search of signs. How could he forget the reason for being out here in this desolate, frozen landscape? Legolas shivered as he moved carefully along the ice-glazed limbs, tucking the fur cloak tighter around him. He reviewed again the mental map he'd made the night of the battle against the spiders, thankful he'd had foresight enough to commit to memory the location of the dark, diseased enclaves of turn-coat trees, spiders' colonies, and Orc outposts. Without that he would be at the mercy of the murderous hardwoods and easily fall prey to the Wraiths' minions. That this very thing may already have happened to Lindalcon chilled his heart.
Quickly Legolas reviewed the assumptions that had guided him to this point: Lindalcon must have headed out of the stronghold following the Elf Path, that much seemed obvious as he would want to avoid the mountains and reach the Road. This route took him almost to the limits of the forest before he could get beyond the malignant peaks unseen. The Road was not far then, less than five leagues due south from the Elf Path. Once over it, Lindalcon would bear obliquely north, seeking for signs of the renegade's passage.
For all his noble heart and best intentions, this goal was impossible; Greenwood encompassed too great an area to make such a search plausible for one lone Elf. Thinking this, Legolas' heart cramped down in a painful thud; his goal was virtually the same. What would likely happen, as soon as Lindalcon realised the magnitude of his error in judgement, was that he would try to get back to the Road and use it to head for Erebor. In attempting this feat, he would invariably run upon the corrupt pathways and be drawn instead toward the Central Mountains.
So I will go there at last and make war upon those invasive demons, as I have long wished to do.
Now many years had Legolas spent in the middling regions of Greenwood near the Forest Road, for Mithrandir's commission to spy upon the Wraiths was a recent one, just seven years old. During the long and lonely seasons prior to it, Legolas had spied upon the Orcs inhabiting the Central Mountains. Driving them out would surely have been a suitable feat to account for at least one warrior's wandering feä. He learned much about their habits and their routines: when they came out hunting and when they came out for warring; where they drew water and where they threw away their wastes and rubbish. The midden was foul and so tremendous it had turned a bend of the river below the cataract into a noisome fen filled with unspeakably vile and rotting offal.
He learned that they kept watch unceasingly on the lands surrounding their underground lair and he could not dig traps anywhere within sight of these outposts. He discovered numerous 'backdoors' through which the Orcs came and went, tunnels delved to procure escape routes and increase the flow of air through the caves. He found out about their hunger for the flesh of humans and thwarted many a caravan of slaves from reaching the Central Mountains. This had in fact constituted his first contact with the doughty, stubborn woodsmen who had chosen to make Greenwood their home and refused to budge. These rescues had earned him their loyalty and trust and he in turn had hoped to enlist their aid in ridding the mountains of the infestation.
For there was no other means to do it than to assemble a great army and lay siege to the place. Without knowing the layout of the tunnels and the caves, Elves storming the mountains would be easily killed. Sealing every outlet and waiting without to kill them as they sought to dig out was the only thing he could think of that might work. That and burning them out, but he feared lest the fire get beyond control and burn the forest. The woodsmen had been willing to listen but doubtful as to the plan's feasibility. Legolas had set about training them for such a war, but what he really needed was Talagan's troops and the host of Thranduil's army.
The siege never came to be. 'Not yet,' said the village matriarchs. 'We are too few and our training to new. Wait until our numbers and our skill increase.' The humans ultimately feared to go so far from their villages to the very place where their kin had been kept as cattle. Legolas sighed; he could not counter their arguments then or now.
And what can I do there alone? Despite my insistent demands to Aragorn, he was right. Even three could not hope to infiltrate that lair much less empty it out. I was mad to think so.
Madness it had been in truth and he thought back to that time, so recently passed, when he had hoped for any honourable means to end his life. He flexed his hand and looked upon the bonding band encircling his forefinger, wondering over the change in him because of this small golden thing. Now, he could not bear the thought of leaving Berenaur, of dying and abandoning him to grieve, to grieve in the arms of his Lorien lovers. Would he join him in Mandos or remain with them? Was he so selfish he wanted his mate to fade?
Yes. I would want him to come after me, even to Mandos.
It was not personally flattering, perhaps, but Legolas deemed he had earned such devotion and if he did not believe Berenaur felt that deeply, he would not have been able to put the past behind him as he had. Legolas no longer thought much about the Wandering Warriors or the Judgement. Not for such reasons would he go to those Orc-infested mountains alone; only his concern Tawardrove him, and for Lindalcon and for his young brother and sister left behind in Greenwood. There was enough for their souls to weather, considering the charges Lindalcon had raised against Meril. To lose their brother, too was unthinkable. Legolas wanted to bring Lindalcon back for them as much as for the love he felt for the young son of Valtamar.
Thus, he must now go and attempt this impossible thing alone. Legolas rubbed his shoulder and rotated the arm. He should practise to work the stiffness from the muscles and hone his speed. Perhaps he could lure the Orcs out and pick them off. He sighed heavily, knowing this for the foolishness it was. Perhaps, he thought, he'd been completely wrong and Lindalcon had not taken the Elf Path. Maybe he'd used the trail along the Forest River out of the stronghold, following its course from the palace cellars into Erebor and on to Lake-town. He tried to convince himself this was a valid option for it was one that promised a more positive outcome to his chase. For a moment his heart uplifted but then he groaned and shook his head. Lindalcon was not going to Erebor; he was seeking his father's murderer, at large somewhere in the heart of the forest, determined to earn Valtamar's Release one way or another.
Death.
Unbidden the word sliced through Legolas' soul and he hastily negated the notion.
I will find him; none know the bent and twisted paths as do I.
Yet he could not shake the idea that he was too late; that what he would find would not be salvageable. What then would he do? He couldn't even formulate a response. Nonetheless, he had to persist in his search, knowing he could not accept Lindalcon's death without seeing the evidence.
Until I see his body cold and lifeless I must believe there is a chance. He is not stupid. Mayhap he is safely hidden in one of the old patrol talans of which I told him.
With that conviction he set out again, slithering stealthily through the branches, mindful of the turned trees as he passed them, careful not to disturb their slumber, wondering if the poison of the Black Tower made them immune to the natural cycles of the seasons. He did not want to find out. He could ill afford being discovered and his movements broadcast to the Wraiths.
Legolas, more upset about Malthen's death than he would have imagined, consumed with fear for his misguided brother, was not thinking along devious lines. He did not suspect the Wraiths were about more than the usual attack upon the fortress. Yes, he knew, if the chance arose, they would eagerly capture him, but it was a realisation buried under the greater worries presently harrowing his heart. The winter campaign was such a constant in his life that he failed to consider Maltahondo's warning. The Lesser Evils were well aware of his presence, but content to let him meander about in the frigid trees for a time. Their first attempt to trap him had failed; they were being more cautious in the second.
The path began to thin, an ominous fact, and the Tawarwaith came to the region decimated by the shaking earth. So many trees had been lost and he could not doubt that the majority of them were loyal to Tawar and to Greenwood. Did he dare go to ground and run over the snow? He would be plainly visible then and there was an ugly, ragged brown track through the snow proving Orcs had been here quite recently. There could be stragglers or scouts waiting to spot him if he came down. He had no choice but to skirt the rim of destruction, following the widening gap of felled trunks until he found a narrower place to leap across.
Time passed and still he followed the verge of humped bolls half-buried under the snow. Such silence he had seldom known and shivered, recalling the distress of the expiring trees in the aftermath of the catastrophe. Had this destruction really been to counter his activity in the southern woods, or was that a misjudgment wrought by his madness, too? Mayhap Sauron meant to destroy the network in which Tawar flowed by felling the loyal trees. Surely that made more sense and Legolas frowned, disturbed that his reasoning had been so distorted then.
Ithil was high and the scene was bright with white light, a fine thing had the place not been a gigantic cemetery of oaks and beeches. Even Fearfaron could not harvest all this wood and give the lost trees a dignified end.
Presently, he paused and stared in disbelief at the empty air over the graveyard, brows rising as he wondered if he was hallucinating. He had just brought the Spirit Hunter to mind and now came a vision drifting along over that desolate expanse, a sight he could not credit at first. Many things, some terrifying, others awe-inspiring, many more wondrous, he had seen whilst striving to complete the Tasks, but this was either a waking dream or a Wanderer. He waited where he stood and let the ghostly spectre come to him.
TBC
