Chapter 5
Faramir whistled and the Captain signaled to the army to stop. They were nearing The Old Forest Road. Soon archers of Mirkwood would be upon them. Presumably, they would be friendly but Faramir had his concerns. Relations with these Elves were not as they used to be. Faramir was one of the few who knew the reason why. Aragorn rode up to the Gondorian as they faced into the Forest of Fears.
The young advisor turned to look at his King. “I have never been to Mirkwood, My Liege. It is even more dark and intimidating than I have heard tell about.” The young man’s eyes were wide and turned apprehensively to Aragorn for reassurance.
Aragorn nodded grimly, as he also looked at the immensely large dark trees that loomed before them. “Aye, Faramir, it is indeed a very inhospitable forest even with the defeat of Sauron’s shadow. Mirkwood is an ancient seat for the world’s darkness.”
“Amazing that the fair and gracious Prince is a native of such a place,” whispered the younger man, his eyes trying to penetrate the gloom before them. He could feel ominous eyes upon them from just beyond the tree line. Sweat trickled down his back.
“Yes,” whispered Aragorn forlornly. “It is always shocking to me as well, when I come back here. But this is the outskirts of the woods. The Elves live deep inside and where the palace is constructed it is much less dismal.”
He turned and looked at the men who had made camp for the night. “Post guards in pairs, Faramir. The spiders come out at night, and we should be encountering Archers soon. I am sure they are already aware of us.”
“Which?” asked the pale looking Gondorian, “the spiders or the archers?”
Aragorn turned to him with a smile, “Both.” He clapped a reassuring hand onto the Gondorian’s shoulder.
Faramir smiled shakily, “That’s what I thought.”
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A scout leapt out of a tree soundlessly at Haldir’s feet. The Marchwarden reared back and looked at the smug Mirkwood Elf with a raised eyebrow. Haldir sighed inwardly at the dramatic antics of these impertinent Woodland creatures. The scout bowed low.
“My Lord, the army of Men is encamped outside the entrance to the Old Forest Road. They smell of fear,” smirked the Wood Elf, “it’s making our spiders hungry.”
Haldir nodded and dismissed the Archer. He called two of his Lórien warriors to him. “Go after the Mirkwood forces led by King Legolas. Inform the King there will be a slight delay in our meeting him. Tell him that an army of Men is about to enter his forest. I will meet the Men and then we will rendezvous with the King at the banks of Lake Esgaroth.”
He grabbed onto the arm of one of the Elves, before he departed, and added, “Tell Legolas I said for him to wait for me. They should not go on alone.” The Lórien Elf raised a dubious eyebrow at his Commander, but kept his thoughts decorously to himself. He departed with a nod.
The Marchwarden sighed in agreement. He could well imagine what the volatile young King’s response to this unwelcome news would be. But Haldir was not displeased. Humans could be troublesome and may have some difficulty dealing with the surprises of the forest but, if what Galadriel had said was true, they would need all the help they could get. Haldir reached into his tunic and fingered the obscure object entrusted to him by Galadriel, which now hung about his neck.
His face darkened as he remember the many Elves that had spilled their blood to help save Humanity. Haldir himself almost died at the Battle of Helms Deep. Many Elves mistrusted the Humans who had an instinctual tendency to want to dominate. And they were becoming stronger every day. Yes, it was time Gondor repaid the debt and demonstrated that Men were not indifferent to the troubles of other races. The young King of Mirkwood would simply have to accept the situation.
“NO!… No, no, no!” yelled Legolas at the cringing, somewhat disheveled, Lórien scouts.
He stopped and eyed them critically. One of them seemed to have collected several transparently thin thorns along his shoulder and back. The other had a puncture wound that looked like a spider bite on his forearm.
“Go to the healer,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand and summoned two Mirkwood Archers. “Go at once and tell the Marchwarden to evict these Humans from Mirkwood immediately! I will not have Humans in my Realm! We have enough troubles on our heads. First Lóriens, now Humans!” He sighed heavily, wondering, not for the first time, what could have possessed his Ada to leave for Valinor. Thranduil virtually thrived in situations of conflict.
Bowing low to their mercurial Sovereign, the two Archers strode across the encampment, passing by the Lóriens with a proud tilt of their chins. Light and fleet of foot as only natives of this inhospitable wood could possibly be, the two warriors flew into the branches and disappeared like shadows amidst the thick vines and brambles of the forest.
The thick Mallorns welcomed the gentle familiar swinging motion of the Wood Elves amongst their tangled ancient limbs. The Archers avoided the slippery red vines that weeped sap, with practiced ease, and steered clear of the innocent looking fat leafy specimen that was covered in tiny pustules, and which emitted a noxious odor when touched. Spiky thorns covered the almost invisible leaves of another common plant, which grew in thick chutes on the forest floor and occasionally climbed into the trees. A thick sweet odor typical of the older Mallorns filled the air, most of these serving as homes to the ancient spiders and their scorpion cousins. Webs covered many of the branches of the younger trees as well, although the Wood Elves were experienced enough to tell which were abandoned and which were currently in use.
The warriors confidently moved through the dark forest, absent mindedly listening to the songs of the trees which directed their movements. When the songs ceased abruptly, it had a startling effect, similar to that of jamming the sonic signals that guided blind bats unerringly through a complex maze without mishap. The sudden chaos of silence caused both Elves to falter, one missing a hand hold on a branch and falling thirty feet to the ground below. His companion cried out and jumped from a high tree limb to one below. But he never made it as a silent black arm grasped the surprised archer by the hair and snapped him back violently.
Razor sharp teeth struck and clamped down onto the Elf’s throat before a sound could escape the stunned warrior. The trees shivered as bright red blood bathed their limbs and every native creature within radius of the carnage froze in its lair. The smell of spilled Elven blood sent a shudder through the ancient forest.
A low moan came from the injured Elf on the forest floor. His eyes searched the darkness above him but the predator had a capacity few creatures in Mirkwood could lay claim to …the ability to evade the sight of a Wood Elf. The Archer frantically searched the shadows but was greeted by silence. Nothing moved above him, yet the unnatural stillness of the forest told him he was not alone. His breathing was harsh in the deathly quiet of the night. He strained to hear something, eyes sweeping the shadows about him. A single drop of cold slickness, fell on his cheek. Slowly raising his eyes above his head the Archer had time enough for one blood curdling scream which reverberated through the trees before the lightening fast jaws struck.
By the Lake of Esgaroth, in the Elven camp of the Mirkwood forces, ….Legolas snapped his head up from the ancient scroll he was attempting to decipher….the trees were screaming!
“UP! UP!” he commanded to his Elves as he leapt to his feet. The Wood Elves all scurried into the trees and disappeared into the shrill crying woods…as the rosy fingers of dawn dragged across the early morning sky…and spoke of blood raining down to bathe the black forest red…
“Haldir of Lórien,” greeted the King of Men. Aragorn and Haldir clasped each other’s shoulders in the way of Elven warriors.
“It is good to see you again, King of Gondor,” said the Lórien Guard. “All does not bode well and I fear we will truly need to combine our forces again to meet this fell new foe.”
“Where is the King of Mirkwood,” asked the Human Monarch apprehensively, his eyes sweeping the forest. Beside him stood Faramir, lending a supportive presence to the forlorn Man.
“He has gone ahead to the Lake of Esgaroth,” informed the Lórien. Haldir’s keen eyes took in the Human’s obvious anxiety as his eyes searched for the fair form of the Mirkwood King. These two had been lovers. Haldir was quite certain of that fact. He continued impassively, as Aragorn’s eyes turned to him, “ The threat hails from that part of the forest and beyond. I was to rendezvous with King Legolas there but news of your arrival detained us.”
Aragorn’s eyes traveled appreciatively over the golden army of Lórien Elves. “He is probably not pleased to hear of my…our arrival,” said the Man, as he turned to look at the Marchwarden again.
Haldir nodded knowingly, “I would wager to say that he is not, Human. In fact...I am surprised my Lórien messengers were not sent back to me with instructions to escort you from the Woodland Realm.”
Aragorn gave him a pained look of inquiry. Haldir explained, with a look of long suffering, “He nearly evicted me on the moment of my arrival. The young Sovereign has much on his shoulders, King Elessar. He seems to have become…more like his father, shall we say.”
Aragorn nodded, mutely, unwilling to discuss the causes for the young Elf’s transformation.
At that moment, two scouts came running up to them, one of them was obviously a Mirkwood Archer, “Marchwarden! We must go at once…our King is in danger!”
Haldir raised a hand to calm the Elf, “What is it?”
The Archer looked exasperated, “I have been telling your Lórien guard, do you not hear it? The forest is crying! King Legolas and our Mirkwood Archers are in trouble! They are under attack as we speak!” The Wood Elf grabbed Haldir’s forearm in growing anger, “We must go now!”
Haldir whistled shrilly to his Lórien forces.
“Lead us on,” he told the Wood Elf. Within moments the Lórien army was ascending the trees, following the paths taken by the Wood Elves.
The Marchwarden turned his eyes to the apprehensive troop of Humans. “King Elessar,” he said to Aragorn, “if your men can climb it would be best. If not, bid them to not touch the plants of the forest and stay clear of the old Mallorns. We must make haste!”
Faramir barked orders to the Gondorian Army and the men plunged into the black forest of Mirkwood, trying to keep their eyes on the golden Elves above their heads.
The young advisor turned to look at his King. “I have never been to Mirkwood, My Liege. It is even more dark and intimidating than I have heard tell about.” The young man’s eyes were wide and turned apprehensively to Aragorn for reassurance.
Aragorn nodded grimly, as he also looked at the immensely large dark trees that loomed before them. “Aye, Faramir, it is indeed a very inhospitable forest even with the defeat of Sauron’s shadow. Mirkwood is an ancient seat for the world’s darkness.”
“Amazing that the fair and gracious Prince is a native of such a place,” whispered the younger man, his eyes trying to penetrate the gloom before them. He could feel ominous eyes upon them from just beyond the tree line. Sweat trickled down his back.
“Yes,” whispered Aragorn forlornly. “It is always shocking to me as well, when I come back here. But this is the outskirts of the woods. The Elves live deep inside and where the palace is constructed it is much less dismal.”
He turned and looked at the men who had made camp for the night. “Post guards in pairs, Faramir. The spiders come out at night, and we should be encountering Archers soon. I am sure they are already aware of us.”
“Which?” asked the pale looking Gondorian, “the spiders or the archers?”
Aragorn turned to him with a smile, “Both.” He clapped a reassuring hand onto the Gondorian’s shoulder.
Faramir smiled shakily, “That’s what I thought.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A scout leapt out of a tree soundlessly at Haldir’s feet. The Marchwarden reared back and looked at the smug Mirkwood Elf with a raised eyebrow. Haldir sighed inwardly at the dramatic antics of these impertinent Woodland creatures. The scout bowed low.
“My Lord, the army of Men is encamped outside the entrance to the Old Forest Road. They smell of fear,” smirked the Wood Elf, “it’s making our spiders hungry.”
Haldir nodded and dismissed the Archer. He called two of his Lórien warriors to him. “Go after the Mirkwood forces led by King Legolas. Inform the King there will be a slight delay in our meeting him. Tell him that an army of Men is about to enter his forest. I will meet the Men and then we will rendezvous with the King at the banks of Lake Esgaroth.”
He grabbed onto the arm of one of the Elves, before he departed, and added, “Tell Legolas I said for him to wait for me. They should not go on alone.” The Lórien Elf raised a dubious eyebrow at his Commander, but kept his thoughts decorously to himself. He departed with a nod.
The Marchwarden sighed in agreement. He could well imagine what the volatile young King’s response to this unwelcome news would be. But Haldir was not displeased. Humans could be troublesome and may have some difficulty dealing with the surprises of the forest but, if what Galadriel had said was true, they would need all the help they could get. Haldir reached into his tunic and fingered the obscure object entrusted to him by Galadriel, which now hung about his neck.
His face darkened as he remember the many Elves that had spilled their blood to help save Humanity. Haldir himself almost died at the Battle of Helms Deep. Many Elves mistrusted the Humans who had an instinctual tendency to want to dominate. And they were becoming stronger every day. Yes, it was time Gondor repaid the debt and demonstrated that Men were not indifferent to the troubles of other races. The young King of Mirkwood would simply have to accept the situation.
“NO!… No, no, no!” yelled Legolas at the cringing, somewhat disheveled, Lórien scouts.
He stopped and eyed them critically. One of them seemed to have collected several transparently thin thorns along his shoulder and back. The other had a puncture wound that looked like a spider bite on his forearm.
“Go to the healer,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand and summoned two Mirkwood Archers. “Go at once and tell the Marchwarden to evict these Humans from Mirkwood immediately! I will not have Humans in my Realm! We have enough troubles on our heads. First Lóriens, now Humans!” He sighed heavily, wondering, not for the first time, what could have possessed his Ada to leave for Valinor. Thranduil virtually thrived in situations of conflict.
Bowing low to their mercurial Sovereign, the two Archers strode across the encampment, passing by the Lóriens with a proud tilt of their chins. Light and fleet of foot as only natives of this inhospitable wood could possibly be, the two warriors flew into the branches and disappeared like shadows amidst the thick vines and brambles of the forest.
The thick Mallorns welcomed the gentle familiar swinging motion of the Wood Elves amongst their tangled ancient limbs. The Archers avoided the slippery red vines that weeped sap, with practiced ease, and steered clear of the innocent looking fat leafy specimen that was covered in tiny pustules, and which emitted a noxious odor when touched. Spiky thorns covered the almost invisible leaves of another common plant, which grew in thick chutes on the forest floor and occasionally climbed into the trees. A thick sweet odor typical of the older Mallorns filled the air, most of these serving as homes to the ancient spiders and their scorpion cousins. Webs covered many of the branches of the younger trees as well, although the Wood Elves were experienced enough to tell which were abandoned and which were currently in use.
The warriors confidently moved through the dark forest, absent mindedly listening to the songs of the trees which directed their movements. When the songs ceased abruptly, it had a startling effect, similar to that of jamming the sonic signals that guided blind bats unerringly through a complex maze without mishap. The sudden chaos of silence caused both Elves to falter, one missing a hand hold on a branch and falling thirty feet to the ground below. His companion cried out and jumped from a high tree limb to one below. But he never made it as a silent black arm grasped the surprised archer by the hair and snapped him back violently.
Razor sharp teeth struck and clamped down onto the Elf’s throat before a sound could escape the stunned warrior. The trees shivered as bright red blood bathed their limbs and every native creature within radius of the carnage froze in its lair. The smell of spilled Elven blood sent a shudder through the ancient forest.
A low moan came from the injured Elf on the forest floor. His eyes searched the darkness above him but the predator had a capacity few creatures in Mirkwood could lay claim to …the ability to evade the sight of a Wood Elf. The Archer frantically searched the shadows but was greeted by silence. Nothing moved above him, yet the unnatural stillness of the forest told him he was not alone. His breathing was harsh in the deathly quiet of the night. He strained to hear something, eyes sweeping the shadows about him. A single drop of cold slickness, fell on his cheek. Slowly raising his eyes above his head the Archer had time enough for one blood curdling scream which reverberated through the trees before the lightening fast jaws struck.
By the Lake of Esgaroth, in the Elven camp of the Mirkwood forces, ….Legolas snapped his head up from the ancient scroll he was attempting to decipher….the trees were screaming!
“UP! UP!” he commanded to his Elves as he leapt to his feet. The Wood Elves all scurried into the trees and disappeared into the shrill crying woods…as the rosy fingers of dawn dragged across the early morning sky…and spoke of blood raining down to bathe the black forest red…
“Haldir of Lórien,” greeted the King of Men. Aragorn and Haldir clasped each other’s shoulders in the way of Elven warriors.
“It is good to see you again, King of Gondor,” said the Lórien Guard. “All does not bode well and I fear we will truly need to combine our forces again to meet this fell new foe.”
“Where is the King of Mirkwood,” asked the Human Monarch apprehensively, his eyes sweeping the forest. Beside him stood Faramir, lending a supportive presence to the forlorn Man.
“He has gone ahead to the Lake of Esgaroth,” informed the Lórien. Haldir’s keen eyes took in the Human’s obvious anxiety as his eyes searched for the fair form of the Mirkwood King. These two had been lovers. Haldir was quite certain of that fact. He continued impassively, as Aragorn’s eyes turned to him, “ The threat hails from that part of the forest and beyond. I was to rendezvous with King Legolas there but news of your arrival detained us.”
Aragorn’s eyes traveled appreciatively over the golden army of Lórien Elves. “He is probably not pleased to hear of my…our arrival,” said the Man, as he turned to look at the Marchwarden again.
Haldir nodded knowingly, “I would wager to say that he is not, Human. In fact...I am surprised my Lórien messengers were not sent back to me with instructions to escort you from the Woodland Realm.”
Aragorn gave him a pained look of inquiry. Haldir explained, with a look of long suffering, “He nearly evicted me on the moment of my arrival. The young Sovereign has much on his shoulders, King Elessar. He seems to have become…more like his father, shall we say.”
Aragorn nodded, mutely, unwilling to discuss the causes for the young Elf’s transformation.
At that moment, two scouts came running up to them, one of them was obviously a Mirkwood Archer, “Marchwarden! We must go at once…our King is in danger!”
Haldir raised a hand to calm the Elf, “What is it?”
The Archer looked exasperated, “I have been telling your Lórien guard, do you not hear it? The forest is crying! King Legolas and our Mirkwood Archers are in trouble! They are under attack as we speak!” The Wood Elf grabbed Haldir’s forearm in growing anger, “We must go now!”
Haldir whistled shrilly to his Lórien forces.
“Lead us on,” he told the Wood Elf. Within moments the Lórien army was ascending the trees, following the paths taken by the Wood Elves.
The Marchwarden turned his eyes to the apprehensive troop of Humans. “King Elessar,” he said to Aragorn, “if your men can climb it would be best. If not, bid them to not touch the plants of the forest and stay clear of the old Mallorns. We must make haste!”
Faramir barked orders to the Gondorian Army and the men plunged into the black forest of Mirkwood, trying to keep their eyes on the golden Elves above their heads.
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