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Legolas was frozen in horror, but Arwen was already moving slowly and
stealthily, backing away from the troll; her eyes never leaving
it. She was close to its feet; so close that at this range it
could not see her. Beside him, Elrohir was watching every inch of
her progress, whispering under his breath. “Come on, Ar, you can
do it – just a little further … yes, keep going …”
It seemed as if Arwen would reach the safety of the trees, when
disaster struck. Suddenly Alauda, her horse, sensing the troll,
panicked and reared. The mare slipped on the soft mud, crashing against
Arwen and knocking her to the ground. She fell heavily, momentarily
stunned, and did not at first move. The troll moved forward a
step, missing Arwen by inches.
Elrohir gave a gasp of horror, and he and Elladan both took a
step forward, as did Elrond, over on the other side of the dell.
Off to the left, there was an anguished cry from Aragorn.
“Arwen! No!” In
seconds he was at her side. Unharmed, Arwen was already regaining her
feet, and together they moved warily away from the troll, watching it
carefully. Both had bows ready, and arrows drawn, but were too near to
the troll to be able to shoot. This close, the angle was impossibly
steep. As they drew further away, the troll glanced down, for the first
time becoming aware of the small figures by its feet. It growled
threateningly.
“Don’t just growl at me, you brute, roar!” muttered Aragorn.
Suddenly Arwen stepped forward, shouting at the troll, waving her bow.
Startled, it peered down at her and growled again. Then it opened its
mouth and gave a tremendous roar. Arwen and Aragorn both jumped back
and fired at it, their arrows lodging in its throat.
Simultaneously, Legolas shot his own arrow, as did the twins, and
Aragorn flinched as their arrows passed close over his head. All
five struck the troll’s mouth, penetrating deep into the soft tissue at
the back of its throat.
They watched breathlessly as the troll gave a strangled cry and
collapsed, thudding to the ground at Arwen’s feet. For an instant
there was silence, then the dell resounded to yells of elation, cheers
and cries of triumph.
Aragorn turned to Arwen and gave her a resounding hug. “We did it! We
did it!” he cried ecstatically.
They gathered in the clearing, laughing in delight. Elladan and
Elrohir bore down on their sister, with Legolas in tow. Elrohir pushed
Legolas against Arwen in mock disgust. “You imbeciles! The pair of you!
You were sitting against that rock for most of the night! Did neither
of you notice it was a troll?”
Arwen and Legolas exchanged a sheepish glance. “Well ...” she began.
Aragorn interrupted, puzzled. “How could it be sitting there in full
view? Why wasn’t it turned to stone?”
No one had an answer for that at first. Then Elrond looked up at the
cliff that the troll had been resting beneath.
“It is always dark and gloomy here. This side of the dell never gets
any sunlight. And here below this overhang it would be dark enough for
the troll to be safe. It obviously slept during the day until
nightfall.”
Elladan was incredulous. “Do you mean it could have been here the whole
time? That cannot be possible! Elrohir and I have ridden
along this trail several times. We would have gone straight past it!”
Legolas could not resist the temptation. With a perfect intonation of
Elrohir’s voice he asked: “Did neither of you notice it was a troll?”
The glare Elladan gave him was worth all the dangers they had
encountered over the past few days.
They returned to Imladris, euphoric, calling out the good news to the
other search parties as they passed them. At day break, as the last few
hunting groups returned, they started a full scale celebration, with
wine, food and song, sending out messengers to Bree and the villages
around Imladris that the trolls were dead; that it was safe for
travellers to brave the roads again.
Legolas was impressed. Elrond could throw an impromptu celebration
every bit as well as Thranduil could, and the Silvan elves of his
father’s kingdom were noted for their love of song, wine and
festivities.
Some time later, Elrohir drew Legolas to one side. “Do you still have
time to ride out to see the other stone trolls? I said I would show you
one day. Elladan and Aragorn can come as well.”
Legolas considered the proposition. “We seem to have finished
here. I can take a few days, no more. I would love to see
your trolls, but then I have to go back to Lasgalen. It will be time I
went home.”
Elrohir grinned, a little drunkenly. “Good. We can leave
tomorrow!”
Early the next morning, Legolas rode out from Imladris accompanied by
Aragorn and the twins. The part of the Trollshaws where Bilbo’s trolls
had had their lair was just over a day’s journey from Rivendell. They
followed the road west from the Ford of Bruinen, where it lay in a deep
cutting under steep banks. Gradually the path rose, following a line of
hills between the valleys.
In the early evening they moved off the road into the woods to the
south. Elladan and Elrohir often stopped at this place when journeying,
and a small spring welled up beneath a low cliff that sheltered the
clearing from the prevailing wind. Flat stones had been placed around
the spring to keep the surrounding ground dry and mud free.
There was a small store of fire wood stacked below the cliff for times
when rain made it impossible to collect dry wood. Today, however, the
weather was mild, and they quickly gathered enough wood to keep a small
fire going throughout the night.
They drew lots to keep watch. Elladan and Elrohir had quickly learnt
not to keep Aragorn from the rota - he refused to accept that mortals
needed more sleep than elves - and Legolas was beginning to agree with
their conclusion. It was far less trouble this way.
For a while the four sat by the fire while the night deepened. Elladan
was recounting the dwarves’ visit to Imladris after they had met the
trolls.
“And Estel was absolutely fascinated by them. He spent hours and hours
talking to them about the Lonely Mountain, dragons, and the quest. I
know he was desperate to go with them when they left, he was absolutely
determined, but for one thing …”
“What was that?” asked Legolas.
Aragorn took up the tale. “Well - I’d heard them talking about a
treasure hoard, and a secret map. The night before they left Elrond was
in his library, talking to Thorin. I decided to climb up a tree outside
the windows to listen, I wanted to find out more. I was only ten years
old, I thought I could find the treasure before they did! The trouble
is, I was too far away to be able to hear what they were saying.”
“So he crawled along a branch to get closer, but it broke, and he fell
and broke his arm!” Elrohir finished.
Legolas gave a snort of laughter, but then sobered. “That must have
hurt.”
“But we got the blame!”
complained Elladan. “Father was furious with him about it, but decided
he had suffered enough. So instead he blamed us for not teaching him to
climb properly!”
“No good ever came to anyone who eavesdrops,” Legolas opined sagely.
Elladan stared at him disbelievingly. “Are those your own words of
wisdom, or someone else’s?”
“The lady Galadriel told me that.”
Elrohir grinned, and gave him a knowing look. “Grandmother? Why? What
had you done?”
“Well - I was hiding on the balcony outside my father’s study once. He
and your grandparents were talking about the Last Alliance, about my
grandfather Oropher – I wanted to hear too! Of course, they
caught me.”
“What happened?”
Legolas grimaced. “My father told me that I had let him down, that it
was a disgraceful and dishonourable thing to do, unworthy of the lowest
servant, and especially a prince.” He paused, and could still recall
the burning sense of shame he had felt at the end of his father’s
lecture. “But it worked - it was something I never did again! I
remember Galadriel said it would punish me properly for listening.”
They continued reminiscing about childhood misdemeanours long into the
night, including some involving Arwen that astounded Aragorn. Elrohir
recalled an escapade that had involved climbing across the rooftops of
Imladris that had ended in disaster, while Elladan told of the
time he had taken a wild ride on Elrond’s stallion that not even
Elrohir had known about. For the elves it was all a very long time ago,
but it was all much more recent for Aragorn. His foster brothers knew
nearly all his guilty secrets, but for his sake they refrained from
describing some of the more embarrassing episodes.
The fire was burning low, so after stoking it for the night, they
settled to sleep. Elladan was taking the first watch, and as he fell
asleep Legolas could hear Elrohir’s insistent whisper. “You stole father’s horse?
When? Why did you never tell me about that? Elladan! Answer
me!”
When they awoke the next morning there had been a frost in the night.
The grass was crisped white, and ice had formed where the spring
splashed onto the stones. Their breath hung in the still air. The fire
had gone out, but there was enough heat in the embers for Aragorn to
stand over them, warming his hands.
“It’s all right for you,” he grumbled. “You never feel the cold!”
It took Legolas little time to rekindle the fire enough to heat a
kettle of water. He made hot drinks for all four and handed them round.
Although he did not particularly feel the cold himself, it was still
comforting.
Riding swiftly, they reached the place where Bilbo and the dwarves had
encountered the trolls, and the twins related the tale again.
There were three of the trolls, one bending down, the other two staring
at it. Legolas looked at them for a moment. “They look different to the
ones we fought,” he said at last. “Are there different sorts of trolls?
Different species?”
“There could be,” agreed Elrohir. “You could be right, these are
smaller than the ones we saw. I think these are wood trolls, whereas
ours were stone trolls. There are cave trolls as well. They live in
darkness all their lives, so they grow to huge sizes, far larger than
the other breeds. They must be far harder to kill, because they have no
need to fear the sun.”
Legolas exchanged a glance with Aragorn. The five trolls they had
battled against were bad enough. “Well, I hope never come face to face
with a cave troll,” he decided. “It would be bad enough being in a
cave, never mind the troll!”
They returned to Imladris the next day. After a final meal with Elrond
and the others, Legolas left on a sharp, frosty morning. Smoke from the
fires rose straight into the air and layers of mist hung in the valley.
Legolas looked at the sky and sniffed the air. “If this weather
holds, it will only take about six days to return home. With Pavisel,
if necessary, I could do it in five.”
“Is there any rush?”
He shook his head. “No rush. There is no need to press on. Six
days will be soon enough. It will be good to be home.”
~~**~~
Two days after he had left Imladris, Nifael rode higher and higher
along the High Pass over the Misty Mountains. The trail was wide here,
and unclear, littered with scree and loose rock. To the left the track
broadened and flattened, levelling off onto more solid ground.
Turning absently in that direction he missed the narrower path that
climbed still higher, and eventually over the pass.
It was some time before Nifael slowed his horse and looked around. His
route did not look familiar, and he was unsure of where he was. He
paused uncertainly, looking back at the path he had been following, and
then ahead. Above him a cliff rose on one side, pock-marked with caves.
On the other side the trail fell away steeply, strewn with debris from
the cliff above. Beyond that there was a sheer drop to the plains
below. Nifael halted, wondering if the trail continued around the
corner of rock that blocked his view, or if he had somehow taken a
wrong turn.
He was unaware that he was being watched.
In one of the caves above him two orcs watched curiously. Their lair
was safely off the main track, where there was less danger of
discovery. They were unused to seeing travellers here, but the elf
below them was alone, hesitant, easy prey. It was the perfect place for
an ambush.
One of the orcs stealthily reached for a bow. It sighted carefully, and
fired, letting out a grunt of satisfaction as the arrow struck home. It
fired again, but the elf had already fallen, and the horse was
disappearing back up the trail.
Nifael had no warning of the attack. Sudden agony flared as the arrow
hit his back, sending him toppling forward off Morlai. Dazed, he was
only partially aware as he slid and rolled down the slope. He tried to
grasp at the stones, but they were loose, and fell with him. He could
not prevent a gasp of pain as his fall jarred the arrow still
protruding from his back. Suddenly he realised that beyond the slope
the ground fell away into nothingness. In desperation he twisted,
unable to prevent his fall, but angled his body, trying to reach a spur
of cliff jutting out below and to his left.
He hit the rock with sickening force, driving the arrow deeper. His
head jerked back against the stone, and he was plunged into darkness.
From the shelter of their cave, the orcs watched dispassionately, then
scrambled down to the track. Their attack had not been as successful as
they had hoped. The horse was long gone, and they had not yet captured
the elf. They stood on the path, gazing down at the motionless figure
far below.
Finally one spoke in their guttural speech. “Well? You goin’ down
there, Fangar? If we get it back here, we could have some fun with it!”
The other grunted. “Nah. Looks dangerous. You go. Why’d you let the
horse escape, anyways? We could’ve ate it!”
“You blamin’ me? You should of shot it first!”
“But then that damned elf would prob’ly have shot us!”
The first orc kicked its companion. “Are we goin’ down to get it, or
not?”
The smaller of the two orcs looked down the slope doubtfully. “Looks
like it’s prob’ly dead already. No point getting it, they’s no fun
dead. Shame.”
Disappointed, they turned away, and then spotted the pouch Nifael had
been carrying. Tearing it open, they investigated the contents. First
they found a rolled sheet of parchment. Unfurling it, they peered
uncomprehendingly at the flowing Elvish script.
“What’s this?” said Fangar at last.
“Dunno. It’s no use to us.” Gordur crumpled the sheet in one huge fist,
and threw it aside.
The pouch also contained some strips of dried meat, which they sniffed
suspiciously, and then ate. There were also several flat cakes, wrapped
in leaves. Gordur sniffed again, broke off a section, and tried it.
With an exclamation of disgust, he spat the mouthful out, and dropped
the cakes in his hand to the ground, treading them into the dirt.
“Filthy bloody elves! We can’t eat this!”
There was nothing else of interest in the pouch, so they dropped it
back on the trail again, and shambled off back to their cave. Far at
the back, out of sight of prying eyes and snooping elf patrols, they
curled up to sleep.
Outside, night began to darken. A cold wind sprang up, and an icy rain
began to fall. Slowly the rain soaked into Nifael’s tunic, mingling
with the blood that still seeped slowly from the wound on his back.
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