Only Varda's stars far above lit
the Golden Wood and all was silent. Too silent. The creatures of
the night knew of the evil intruders, as did the watchful elves.
Gurthdín walked as only elves can along the boughs of the great trees, keeping a watchful eye on the enemy below. The foul, dark-skinned orcs marched deeper into the enchanted wood, their iron-shod feet trampling the lush grass and the fair elanor, all the while heedless of their own peril.
It was all Gurthdín could do to hold himself for the signal to attack, so eager was he to rid the forest of the dark creatures of evil. Faintly, from the other side of the marching orcs he heard the hoot of an owl, the signal for the attack.
At once the singing of many long, elven bows broke the silence and for every arrow loosed there was an orc screaming in pain. Before his third arrow struck its target, Gurthdín was on the ground, his shining blade in hand. He leapt into battle, meting out death to any orc that came within the reach of his long sword. The orcs, taken by surprise, were in disarray and none could outmatch the swordsmanship nor the strength of the elves defending their homeland.
As quickly as the elves attacked they were gone, leaving behind less than half as many orcs as there were before and losing only three of their own to the wild slashes of the surprised orcs.
Many of the orcs fled, away from the forest and south, towards The Wold, but some remained and fled deeper into The Golden Wood. The elves kept up with the fleeing orcs, running through the trees and firing down upon the orcs that slowed or split off from the main group. Many orcs were lost in well-hidden pits, as they ran along paths made for that very purpose. The largest of the groups ran on in fear and then came to a small clearing...where the elves waited for their arrival. Before the orcs in the rear of the group even saw the clearing the foremost orcs were dead, impaled upon bright spears held by skilled hands. The rest soon followed, being attacked both from the front by the spearmen and from behind by Gurthdín and his elven rangers. Soon all of the remaining orcs in The Golden Wood were destroyed and Lorien was, for the time being, at peace.
Even as Frodo and Sam escaped from
Without warning, the elves were upon the enemy that threatened their home. They emerged from the shadows, almost entirely unseen because of their forest cloaks. The elves engaged their foes upon the wolves, thrusting and stabbing with long, bright-bladed spears. Some of the wolves, caught off guard by the sudden emergence of the elves, dropped their riders and bolted out of the forest and away from the battle they feared they would lose. The orcs thrown from their wolves were dead before they could get up.
Gurthdín, again leading his rangers, attacked his opposite amongst the enemy, the great wolf-chieftain. He ran at the huge wolf, his sword glittering in anticipation of enemy blood. The two combatants fought a mighty battle, Gurthdín lashing out with his leaf-shaped blade, the wolf trying to seize the elven champion in his long fangs or slash with his razor sharp claws. They fought on, the battle continuing around them, each using every ounce of strength and endurance he possessed. Time passed and both of them were covered in hundreds of tiny cuts and both bled freely. Then, suddenly, the wolf leapt at Gurthdín and the elf too slowly brought up his blade. The wolf struck the elf down and held him to the ground, his great jaws crushing Gurthdín's left arm just below the shoulder.
Gurthdín, seeing the blood pulse from between the great wolf's jaws had a last surge of energy.
“Elbereth!,” he called as, with one fluid movement, he sliced off the wolf's muzzle and threw the beast off of him. He jumped up and before the wolf could get to his feet, Gurthdín thrust his sword through the wolf's throat and into the ground. Upon seeing the end to this glorious battle between the champions, the remaining wolves and their riders upon them turned and fled the forest, not waiting for the orcs on foot, still marching towards the forest, to arrive.
It was not long before Gurthdín, lying upon the ground in a puddle of his own blood could hear, or feel, the orcs on foot approaching. They marched into the forest unchallenged, and believed themselves victorious. Unbeknownst to them, there was no reason for the elves to challenge them, for they were no longer marching in the direction that they intended. As with the ancient