Feud

Disclaimers: see chapter one
Thanks: Unending praise and appreciation to Sarah for her hard work as my beta. Limitless gratitude to all the readers and fabulous reviewers!

Chapter 43: Tadui Dagor: Maeth dan Yrch [Second Battle: Fight against the Orcs]
Part One

Legolas paused in his game of chase long enough to snatch up an arrow as it sung through the air past his body, a necessary skill he had learned through long, unpleasant practice. With care he clutched it and darted up higher into the leaves, reverting to his natural stealth and agility so that he was four trees to the left of the current target of the Orcs' barrage of missiles. The Tawarwaith smirked; it was so easy to throw them off. The ferine fighter examined the arrow's metal tip cautiously, seeking any indications of poison residue on the point.

He had begun to worry about this after reflecting on his last encounter with Darkness on the day of the Heaving Earth. Those arrows had been subtly tainted, enough to kill him or, at least, to render him weak and vulnerable. Three tours of Ithil through the blackened night had been required to shake the ill-effects of the small wound he had received that day. With two earth-bound companions to consider, that was not the sort of injury the archer could afford to endure.

No toxins appeared to be coating the weapon and Legolas sneered as he ran his thumb against the metal barb. A small scarlet welt raised and opened, and he quickly licked away the welling fluid. He scorned the use of iron for arrows, though he would use that if need demanded it. Obsidian was far more durable and could be worked to an edge so sharp that it would slice a single elven hair into three transparent slivers. Attached to a straight shaft of ash or cedar, launched from his well-crafted bow, such a lethal vertex would puncture flesh and bone, leather and chain-mail, with equal ease.

Relieved that he would not need to worry about the lingering death of polluted blood, the Wood Elf moved quickly through the upper branches until he was beyond the circle of frustrated Orcs. The thought occurred to him that the Masters of Dol Guldur had changed their orders; he was to be brought down by any means possible, preferably dead. {The Chief does not want me to get back home; if he cannot have me in his dungeons he would have me perish. Poison is too slow for his purpose now!}

Legolas did not take time to reflect on the situation, however, for it made no change in his plans. It was not information that he felt needed to be shared with his comrades, waiting in the pitfall zone ahead. He looked down at the milling, quarrelling Orcs, who had ceased loosing their arrows and were re-examining the last available traces of blood upon the ground. The Tawarwaith chuckled and made a loud rustling as he descended low enough to poke his head into view and smile at his assailants. A low whistle gave them his position and the wild elf sped away again, leading the angered beasts closer to the hidden traps and his companions' eager swords.

The bark of the bole was sleek and smooth, mottled charcoal and pale grey in colour so that in the subdued, filtered gleam that passed for sunlight under the canopy it appeared as unpolished or tarnished silver. The tree's body was broad and unmarred, no claw or hoof had scratched its wooden hide, nor falling branch or stray cast stone found a way to breach its pristine perfection. The great tree dominated the region, soaring high above the forest floor, surely the eldest denizen of this locality and among the oldest amid the plant life inhabiting the Greenwood.

It held its thick, robust limbs up and out nearly parallel to the ground, yet far from the reach of even the nimblest elf to grasp and swing from the earth to the heights. So vast was the spread of its leafy shade that no brush or bramble crowded up around the trunk, allowing anyone located near its tethered base a clear view throughout the vicinity. The girth of the majestic birch was more than ample to conceal one lone human from seeking eyes, easily two Men might hide behind its magnificent expanse, and here Aragorn waited with fidgety impatience for Orcs to slay.

Sword drawn and held tight within his two-fisted grip, the Man admired the ancient wood around him and gazed dizzyingly into the towering crown of the old ones clustered together in this place. He had not really noticed before how certain areas of tealdeald held such groups of these long-lived trees while other zones seemed crowded with more youthful, slender trunked individuals. There was a flet spanning the lowest limbs of his tree. Simply constructed and easily visible, the small platform was clearly not an outpost. {One of the scaffolds Legolas built for shooting Orcs.}, he realized as he scanned the neighboring trees and spotted more of the sturdy perches scattered about.

Aragorn shifted from foot to foot, relieving the tension in his calves, shrugged and rotated his shoulders, and turned his head side to side, cracking the joints of his spine and neck. He did not tolerate waiting very well, especially in the steamy heat of the late summer's day, and sighed in frustration. But he was a disciplined soldier and knew how to use his time, noting all the possible routes the enemy might employ when entering the scene, listening carefully to the sounds of the forest for changes in the normal pattern of the diurnal chatter.

With an abruptness that startled him, all the background noise of the woods ceased and it was thus the silence that alerted him of impending battle. Aragorn strained his ears to try and pick up any faint indication of the enemies' direction, and finding nothing threw himself down to the ground to press his head against the leafy bosom of the earth. He smiled and rose, rewarded for his effort by the knowledge that the horde was approaching with rapid strides from the east and south of his position, the bearing upon which Legolas had disappeared hours ago.

He need not have gone to such lengths, however, for shortly thereafter he could clearly hear the terrible beasts tearing their way with avid hostility through the trees. Their cries, grunts, and strange guttural speech, accompanied by the distinct sound of blade against wood and the cracking of branches still green with sap, became an eerily echoing cacophony that grew in volume and pitch as the pack neared. Before they burst into view, Aragorn noted the unmistakable twang of an elf-made bow and the disturbing sound of a fair voice ridiculing and taunting the vile creatures.

When the troop made its entrance, Aragorn braced for assault but held his position, as he had no desire to become the first victim of the traps. The elf flew through the trees ahead of them, just out of reach yet not so high that he was beyond the range of their weapons or their sight. The mortal had never seen one of the fair folk make so much clatter and clamour in motion as Legolas produced. It was an uncomfortable observation, for he had always been taught that the Wood Elves were fighters of stealth and subterfuge rather than strategy and shrewd cunning.

The wild warrior leaped upon the very flet above the mortal's head, smiled down at him for a second, and with blinding rapidity fired off three darts before tearing away again. The cries of death and outrage that followed left no doubt in the Man's mind that the misshapen arrows had burrowed deeply into Orcish flesh.

Then the huge herd was trampling in a thunder of crushing feet past him, never even catching the scent of the Man as he crouched behind the tree, ready to stand and fight. His vision followed their progress among the trees and noticed with alarm that the elf was now on the ground, just meters from the advancing throng, calmly firing arrow after arrow into the advancing host.

The Orcs were torn between answering with their bows or rushing forward with swords to carve him up, and seemed nearly evenly divided over the dilemma. Those that stopped and armed their bows created barriers the others had to get around, and some of their fellows were too impatient to pause in their charge and would hack at these archers even as they tried to target the Wood Elf. Legolas laughed in delight at these antics, a cold sound that chilled Aragorn's soul a bit.

"That is well, do ork ork for me! Come on, maggot fodder, I will use your rotting bodies to feed my trees! This day is the last you will look upon the fairness of my woods, and for the rest of your damned existence may your black spirits roil in the torment of the Void with your faithless master!"

This taunt from the Wood Elf enraged them and any pretense of order vanished at once. The creatures disregarded whatever knowledge of the traps they might possess and rushed headlong for the fallen prince. Legolas just smiled and continued to shoot them down.

Three traps were sprung at once in a sundering shuddering of branches and forlorn shrieks as the demons were pierced through, falling to their dooms. Panic ensued.

Legolas ceased firing to return to the branches above, climbing the trunk behind him with easy grace. He stood upon a flet and watched with satisfaction as the Orcs scattered and ran off, only to find the deadly holes opened beneath them no matter where they turned, for their adversary had learned their pattern of behavior well. As for the few that managed to evade the traps, those the forest champion felled before they left the scene, and as he had predicted every one of the monsters died within minutes.

Silence returned and with it the stinking reek of draining blood from opened bodies. Aragorn emerged from his hidden vantage point and surveyed the carnage. He undertook a quick count as he walked carefully among the carcasses and the pits, mindful of any not yet deployed. There were forty-two Orcs dead amid the trees, and he had not even had to raise his blade once. The Man had never felt so utterly inconsequential in all his days, and gazed up at the quiet archer above.

Legolas sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the wooden platform, swinging them lightly, and lifted his hand in acknowledgement. Before the mortal could speak, the elf rose and moved into the branches, joining the Man on the ground as the wizard emerged from cover as well.

"I told you it would work. However, this was not really a battle. There will be harder fighting with a real troop of them; too many for traps to do more than offer minor help." he said softly.

Mithrandir did not reply, only watched the outcast warrior cautiously. Legolas seemed curiously detached from the events. The Istar did not like the means his friend had chosen to draw the foul demons in, yet knew not what to say, fearing Legolas would hear only criticism and disapproval on a more personal level. He moved to touch the Tawarwaith hoping thus to convey his worry for the elf's safety; but, the archer quickly shied away.

Legolas gave him a furtive glance as he did so and then inspected the corpses upon the ground, calmly taking two nearly full quivers of arrows and slinging them over his shoulder. He continued to steal arrows from any corpse so armed that he could reach, packing the missiles into his own and the Orcish quivers. Examining and discarding several war bows, he finally found one that met his approval and slipped that over his head as well. He began dragging the remains into the empty traps and Aragorn moved to help him.

"I admit I am surprised this ploy succeeded. I was certain they would know of the pitfalls and find a way to circumvent them," he said and then pointed to the clotting slash across the wild elf's arm. "Allow me to treat that for you."

"Nay!" Legolas forced a laugh as he flexed his arm. "It is very shallow and will close quickly." "Do "Do you not fear poison?" Aragorn frowned thinking the elf distrusted his talents as a healer after the effects of the sleeping draught. "Even a slight wound from an Orcish weapon may be deadly!"

"Ah! I see; no, there is no need to worry about poison, Aragorn. I already tested their arrows for such vile deceits; there was none. In any case, this cut is not from any foul devise of those demons."

Aragorn stared in consternation a moment and turned to Gandalf to confirm what he believed he had been told. As the Istar nodded, the Man hissed out a strong expletive and looked at the elf in disbelief. "You cut your own flesh to lure them," he said, outraged that anyone would have to do such a thing, much less an immortal.

"Yes, they cannot resist," Legolas simply shrugged. "Here, these may be needed in the fight that awaits us." He handed over the plundered bow and a full quiver of arrows to the Man.

"I am not nearly as adept with such a weapon as I am with my sword, Legolas," Aragorn said in confusion as he accepted the offering and tested its draw. He raised his brows appreciatively; it was not the sort of quality one expected an Orc's weapon to possess. A second later realization dawned; the bow was of elven make, stolen from an archer killed in the constant conflict that defined the Wood Elves' existence.

"Earlier you remarked upon the lack of arrows to fight from the trees; now you have that option. You can shoot from horseback?"

"Aye, if need be. You speak as though you expect us to be in flight!"

"We are in flight, Aragorn!"

With that assertion Legolas resumed toting the carcasses into the traps and nodded gratefully when the Man rejoined the task. All the offal was quickly deposited below the forest floor, and the human wiped his brow as the elf searched a last time for anything serviceable to their cause. He scavenged two daggers and slipped them into his quiver with a wicked leer; killing the creatures with weapons of their own making always seemed so appropriate.

They had not time to fire the pits, which bothered Legolas. He knew it could not be helped and sighed dejectedly. The brief encounter had only darkened his mood for while he had now proved himself a capable warrior the tension between the travelers remained. He stole a fleeting look in Mithrandir's direction, finding the Istar's eyes regarding him with an expression of remorse that made Legolas' heart contract. Absentmindedly he massaged the ache, simultaneously longing for the wizard's comfort and dreading to resume the connection, reluctant to again feel the doubts Mithrandir could not repress; however valiantly he tried to conceal them.

Noisy movement amid the trees beyond the traps alerted Gandalf and Aragorn, both immediately drew swords and assumed a defensive stance. Legolas just waited calmly as the two horses emerged from the foliage beyond the pits and daintily picked their way with careful distaste around the malodorous graves of the gross abominations of Eru's design.

Legolas spoke softly to them in Sindarin words only they could hear and gently soothed the nervous gelding. The frightened palomino was not a war-horse, and the terror of the journey across the Shadowed terrain had become a visible lather of sweat upon its whithers and flanks, darkening the honey-coloured coat to a rich, shiny bronze. The horse snorted loudly through itlvetlvet-skinned muzzle and rubbed its weary head against Legolas' shoulder. The Wood Elf instinctively leaned against the broad equine forehead, both receiving and lending comfort.

"It is no good waiting; that only allows more time for the Orcs to get closer," he finally said and looked to his friends.

"Nay, this will not do!" Mithrandir at last found his tongue. "Legolas, I must speak!" The Istar drew himself up as the archer faced him warily. "Well done, my friend, well done!" the wizard said from amid a face all crinkled up with lines of warm regard. "Accept my apology for doubting your oath to me! I plead ignorance and the influence from the creeping defilement of the Shadow upon these lands! We must be able to depend upon one another, and I do not wish to add to your burdens by allowing this distrust and dread to fester!"

"That is right," added Aragorn. "I also stand humbled. I have disbelieved you and disregarded your greater experience in this sort of fighting. These tactics bear no resemblance to riding within a company of well-armed elves or men, for which I am amply trained!"

Legolas' brows rose in surprise as he gazed from one to the other, for it was not what he had expected to hear. He did not draw back when Mithrandir came forward and gripped his shoulder firmly, staring hard into his eyes. The Maia was asking for the connection to be restored, and Legolas relented only to find himself swept into Mithrandir's embrace, his spirit awash in an outpouring of fond goodwill and his face crushed against the shaggy beard as the wily wizard chuckled joyfully.

"Here now, let him loose, Gandalf! I will not let that gash go untreated, no matter what you say, Legolas!" Aragorn said and pried the two apart, beaming happily to find the tensions between them reduced and the unseemly events of the night if not forgotten then at least pushed aside. He lifted the wild elf's arm and, holding on, guided him over to the charger's side.

The Man quickly located what he needed in his pack and cleaned the cut, dressing it with more of the healing ointment that had proved so effective against the scrapes and slices from the spider battle. He glanced briefly at the bound ankle but thought better of bringing it up, considering any reference to their previous misunderstanding unwise. Besides, Legolas was clearly not hindered in his movements any longer.

"Thank you, that does feel much better now," Legolas said and flashed his brilliant smile upon them both. "Yet, this delay will be costly if we prolong it further!"

"Very well, Legolas. Will you ride or take to the trees?" asked Mithrandir as he approached and mounted his steed.

"I will ride for now, we require some semblance of speed to get ahead. There is a very large group moving in from the fringe of the Greenwood, dwellers of the caves in the Misty Mountains, they are. They seek to cut us off before we reach the river, planning to keep us occupied while the company from the mountains advances. That will be quite age fge force, and I would rather not have to face them thus combined."

"Indeed!" Aragorn concurred as he pulled himself up onto his charger's back. "Lead the way, Tawarwaith!"

In silence the group rode forward again, if such an irregular course could so be called. The remainder of the day dwindled away with no further encounter with any enemy yet neither Legolas nor the horses relaxed. The palomino paced along in stiff-legged dread, trusting himself to the care of the elf who had protected him thus far, when all instincts would have the animal bolt for the wide meadows reaching down to the Anduin beyond the eaves of the darkening forest.

The golden gelding moved with its head high on an elegantly arched neck, nostrils flared, huffing noisily with every step as its hooves pounded out a relentless, mile-eating percussion against the leafy mould. With ears cocked, one trained back to catch the soft speech of the Elda and the other scanning side to side; he searched for any signals of danger. He was in the lead once more and summoned the confidence to maintain it from the unspoken reassurances of his immortal passenger.

The wild elf serenely sat astride its withers, in front of the wizard again. Legolas occasionally whispered praise to the compact equine, impressed with the strong heart and brave spirit of the smaller horse. He wondered briefly why the Noldor of Imladris had chosen to castrate taliaaliant steed, for such a determined and loyal bearing would do well to be encouraged in the bloodlines rather than diminished. The woodland warrior was momentarily overcome by sadness at the thought of this creature dying and leaving no progeny behind, but he quickly stifled such emotions for the gelding sensed his sorrow and faltered in its step.

"What is our friend called?" Legolas suddenly asked the wizard, the first words he had spoken to Mithrandir since the skirmish.

Mithrandir opened his mouth to speak and hesitated. The horse was named Pôdvallen [Goldfoot] but he did not wish to say this word; it would only make Legolas think of Malthen [Golden].

"You have noticed I have not used his name, I see," the wizard stalled, but his statement was true. Gandalf waited until the archer affirmed this, looking over his shoulder expectantly. "The stable master calls him Pen'irith [Shuddering One], but that is hardly fair!" he continued, and this also was no lie. "He has proven to be quite reliable, and what creature would not be skittish confronted with the overwhelming dread of Mirkwood?" Gandalf smiled inside and out, pleased to have kept the real name secret and thus spared his friend an unpleasant reflection.

"I agree," said Legolas, "and never could I call him that. He shall be Hûnchim [Steadfast Heart] as long as I have a mind with which to think of him." He patted the gelding's neck and smiled as the horse tossed its head proudly. The archer leaned sideways and gazed back amiably at the mortal. "And your steed? How is he called, Aragorn?"

"Maranwë [Destiny]," the Man grinned as the charger twitched back an ear at the sound of its name. "I have noticed the terrain has altered; we must be near the borders now for I have seen many signs of elven work among these trees."

"Aye, we will be upon the Road soon. We will not cross it yet, and this day is too far spent to make much further progress. There is an outpost a league ahead where we will stay the night," the elf replied with more of the ease he had formerly managed, but the silence returned as they continued their trek.

It was not his guilty shame and hurting heart that made the wild elf go quiet now, however. He had thought much on their reactions to him and decided that it was no more than he should have expected. He reproached himself for his self-pity; he should not have allowed his personal faults to sully the vow he had made to them. The pair's kindness and aid to him during the night of grieving incurred a debt that transcended the reduced esteem they now held for him, for which he had only his base desires to blame. Their apologies and spontaneous assertions of faith, despite all they now knew of his character, were beyond any good graces the archer had hoped to recoup.

His current reticence thus had more to do with their situation. He was becoming increasingly aware of the alarm throughout the trees due to the very large band of Orcs marching their way from the western most eaves of the forest. The travelers were now engaged in a desperate race to prevent the creatures from gaining enough ground to intercept them before they reached the Forest Road, though the Man and the Maia did not realize the nearness of the pursuit. Legolas kept this news to himself and pressed Hûnchim for a longer stride.

Night had drawn down darkness upon the forest over two hours hence before the Tawarwaith finally halted the gelding and stood upon his back to climb into the trees. Mithrandir watched as he scampered up until the leaves and the gloom obscured him from view. The wizard frowned, but before he could speak the Man verbalized his concerns for him.

"Legolas, we cannot see where you are going nor climb unaided through this pitch! Come back down!" Neither reply nor motion greeted his demand and the mortal muttered something rather unpleasant regarding impolite behavior as he guided Maranwë next to the palomino. He was about to leap down and attempt to scale the tree when a muffled whoosh sounded and he felt rather than saw something drop down from the branches and hang swaying in the momentum of its fall. His first thought was of spiders and his sword rang loudly as he drew it forth, but muted elven laughter halted his arm from further exercise.

"Do not cut through the ladder, Aragorn, or you will find it much more difficult to ascend to the talan!" Legolas cheerily warned as he landed softly on the ground next to the charger's nose. He reached up and grasped the end of a sturdy rope ladder and held it taut, inviting them to climb up.

Somewhat sheepishly, the Man sheathed his broadsword as he turned toward the wizard with a look of longsuffering resignation over the capricious ways of elven folk, realizing belatedly that Gandalf could see no more clearly in the dark than he, and would thus fail to appreciate the expression.

"You might have warned me!" Aragorn grumbled to Legolas, shouldering his pack, the bow, and the quiver. He grabbed the silky twine the elf held down and easily pulled himself up through the inky air to the platform, passing within a small trapdoor in the floorboards.

Once there, he hesitantly felt about, toes edging forward and hands before him, and discovered that Legolas had already set out tats ats and blankets. In the dim drear, the Man could scarcely see and his eye was drawn to a faint gleam of wan moonlight on glass. A bottle and some cups waited on the closed lid of the wooden chest and as he reached for it, he heard Gandalf hauling his weight up through the floor. Aragorn leaned down to give him a hand but the gnarled staff appeared first and nearly caught the mortal a sharp rap upon the forehead. Aragorn dodged the blow and grasped the rod firmly, pulling the wizard up with it. Both waited by the opening, expecting the elf to appear next, but minutes passed and no golden head popped through the square of empty air.

"Pull up the ladder and shut that now," the Wood Elf's voice from behind and above them made both startle slightly and Mithrandir made an exasperated 'tisk' to accompany the scowl neither of his companions could see. He obeyed the elf, however, and then turned toward the direction from which the words had sounded, but still their friend did not join them. "You will be safe here; I will wake you before dawn," he said, and already they could tell he was no longer in the tree with them from the distant quality of the speech.

"Where are you going?" called Aragorn, concerned.

"Hunting," the answer came back through the cloying night.

The two travelers shared a simple meal of dried fruits, lembas, and wine; for the bottle was a fine vintage, no doubt left by Thranduil's guard to enjoy upon their return. Aragorn scowled as he set aside his empty cup; it felt wrong to enjoy such luxury when Legolas was abroad among the dangers of the Darkness, and he said so. Gandalf agreed, but there was no way for them to follow and assist their comrade.

In silence they waited for the elf to return, smoking pensively after the humble repast. Soon their weariness got the better of them and they stretched out to sleep. Secure though they were upon the heights of the outpost talan, the Man and the wizard slept lightly. At one point, both woke at once, staring at each other in alarm, uncertain what had prompted their alertness. Nothing unusual seemed to disrupt the peaceful night, and yet the uneasy feeling would not desist, and the pair only dozed fitfully thereafter.

A soft thump and a subtle clattering roused Aragorn some time later. He bolted up, staring through the darkness at the shadowy figure kneeling on the wooden floor, and exhaled a relieved breath as he recognized the lithe form of the Wood Elf.

It was not yet dawn, Legolas having retd asd as promised, and the Man yawned as he stretched, trying to figure out what the fallen warrior was doing. Nearby, Gandalf stirred as well. Gradually the mortal's eyes adjusted and he could observe more easily. Legolas was busy removing arrows from an Orcish quiver, filling his own with the black-fletched darts as he breathed heavily, trying to catch his bre Ar Aragorn's healing senses came alert; it took a great deal of activity to make one of the fair folk short of wind.

"Legolas?" he whispered and saw the archer's shadowed head tilt in his direction.

"Quickly, gather your things up! We must make haste, for the Orcs have not slept all night and are upon us!" the agitated reply softly reached his ears. "Use the ladder, hurry! The horses are below!" With these words he leaped over the side of the platform and made not even a rustle of leaves in his descent to the floor. Legolas was already mounted and impatiently waiting when the Maia and the Man joined him.

As soon as they were up, Legolas spoke softly to Hûnchim and the gelding leaped froward through the trees at a run. Maranwë sped after him, covetous of the lead, smelling the odor of battle on the elf and in the air. An hour's hard riding brought them into less densely treed forest and then suddenly they broke onto the broad, hard-packed dwarven road that transected the woods and formed the southern bounds of Thranduil's Realm. Legolas urged the palomino again, and the gallant little horse charged forward at a desperate gallop down the clear pathway.

Continued in Part Two
Should be out in a day or so; sorry for the troubles, this was for some reason fighting me.