Aradan smiled as he wrote, waiting for the next order. But none came.
"You want more?" asked Thranduil blithely as he turned from the window to his Chief Councillor.
Aradan looked up, his face open and joyous. "Welcome back, my King."
Tomorrow would mark the final leg of their journey, but tonight, and to their horror, the weather had unleashed a bitter snow storm that had already covered half the camp in snow, indeed it was all they could do to keep their fires burning and their hoods upon their heads.
The company had remained at the back, for still no one had approached them with the slightest inclination to teach them. Thus they had naturally gravitated towards the position of the other Silvan warriors. They were received well enough; at least they were not subject to snide remarks and withering stares. There was an arrogance about the Sindar that did not fit with the Silvan way, and Idhreno rather fancied these Silvans thought the same, for he had not missed their disapproving stares when Silor had made one of his many, disrespectful requests.
The wind howled around the rocks and crevices, and the duty guards called out their time signals - enemy at bay. The bird calls echoed strangely, and then mixed with the moaning wind. Idhreno cocked his head to the full moon, holding the hood of his cloak in place.
'tis a strange night,' he mused to himself, before curling up beside the rest of The Company, and falling into a fitful sleep.
By dawn, the warriors were covered in a thin layer of snow. Stirring to life, they shook it off in irritation, rubbing their hands and thighs in an effort to regain some feeling in their frozen bodies. Breath frosted before them, and Galadan watched them, his face grave as Lord Celegon came to stand silently beside him.
"This will set us back, my Lord. Pray it does not get worse."
Celegon turned to look at his lieutenant, but remained silent, for there was nothing else to say and so he cast his eyes around the camp one last time, and then turned into the prince's tent, leaving Galadan with his thoughts.
On the other side of the slowly awakening camp, the company sat sipping on their tea, the last small comfort before they set off once more. Idhreno was about to launch into a fully fledged mental moan about how uncomfortable their present predicament was, but he was startled out of it by a sudden movement beside him.
Legolas held his head tilted upwards, his eyes closed. Watching carefully, Idhreno half expected to see the unnerving green mist again and mentally prepared himself for it. However when Legolas did open them, they were crystal clear pools of moss green.
"The scouts return in haste, they have news…" he had said it loud enough for the Silvan warriors nearby to hear him.
"We should tell Silor," said Idhreno as he moved to stand.
"Wait," said Legolas, looking straight through his friend. Listening, he was listening… and the Silvan warriors slowly rose to their feet, their eyes riveted on the the young warrior, the one they knew was called The Silvan.
"There is something they do not know… Idhreno, my eyes…" hissed Legolas desperately in frustration, turning his head so that the others could not see the transformation.
"It's alright, you are shielded, continue."
"There is trouble they are unaware of… " he said urgently.
"Elo has gone for Silor," shouted one of the Silvan warriors, craning his neck for a better view of what was happening.
Idhreno turned to identify the Silvan, and simply nodded his understanding. They were only trying to help but Idhreno would have preferred to approach the aspiring Sindarin lieutenant himself, rather than drawing him to Legolas, for his eyes - his eyes were burning, blazing with green fire.
Moments later, Silor strode into their midst, anger furrowing his strict brow.
"What is the meaning of this?" he spat, "you are interrupting the morning agenda."
Ram en Ondo stepped forward, effectively blocking Silor's line of sight. "There is trouble, Sir. The scouts ride in haste and we believe there is something they do not know, some hidden danger."
"And who says this?" asked Silor, his voice low and dangerous as he rounded on Ram en Ondo, albeit his head only reached his collar bone.
"One of our party is a listener, Sir. He says it is so."
"One of you novice Silvan boys? Fresh out of the barracks and already playing hero? Ah, let me guess," he said sarcastically - perhaps it is - The Silvan?" he asked with a smile that seemed almost a snarl.
"Yes, Sir," said Ram en Ondo quietly.
With one hand flat upon Ram en Ondo's chest, Silor moved him aside until he stood before the cloaked and hooded Legolas, Idhrenohtar ramrod stiff beside him, his face hard and forbidding.
"Take your hood of when you address me, warrior. Now!" he shouted harshly. The other Silvan warriors moved closer, instinct telling them Silor should not have insisted.
After a moment of hesitation, one strong archer's hand moved up and flipped his hood down, revealing the harsh, rebellious set of Legolas' face, his eyes alight with the life force of the forest.
Some gasped, while others swore strings of curses in Sindarin, Silvan and even Quenyan, their hands straying to the pommels of their swords. It was then that Idhrenohtar, Ram en Ondo and Lindohtar stood to each side of Hwindohtar, their eyes burning into the surrounding warriors, daring them to approach, the promise of retribution glinting dangerously in their eyes should any endanger their friend.
"Servant of Morgoth!!" spat Silor as he lurched forward, but Ram en and Idhreno blocked his path with their own bodies, causing Silor to crash into them, or specifically Ram en Ondo. Not in vain had he been called Wall of Stone, for he was a monument of strength and Silor fell backwards, landing on his backside painfully, legs splayed clumsily.
Yet far from receiving help and protection from the Silvan warriors, they simply stood and watched,their eyes darting from Silor to the terrifying vision of Legolas. One of them, a chestnut haired elf, stepped forward, speaking it seemed, for the rest of his group.
"Who are you?" he asked slowly, his hand still over his knife."
"I am Legolas, The Silvan," said Hwindo, his voice strong and steady, in spite of the situation that had just taken place.
"What, are you?" the warrior asked then, earning the confirming nods of the others.
"I am a warrior of his majesties militia. I am a listener. What you see is energy from the trees, brother. This is not witchcraft - it is woodcraft…"
Against all odds, the brightest of smiles broke out on the warrior's face, his blue eyes sparkling and his white teeth flashing, lending him a soft beauty that wrenched a smile from Legolas, despite the ferocity of his face.
"You!" raged Silor as he slowly stood, his furious eyes upon those of Legolas, which had begun to lose their glow, slowly returning to their normal colour.
Moving forward, he grasped the front of Legolas' tunic and pulled him forward until their eyes were inches from each other.
"You, are in trouble boy. Get your backside to Lieutenant Galadan's tent now, you three as well," he added with a jerk of his head, before spinning on his heals and casting the other silvan warriors a thunderous gaze.
Legolas blew out a breath and Ram en Ondo struggled to control his ire.
"Let's go. Perhaps Lieutenant Galadan will listen," said Legolas as he began to walk away, towards the centre of their camp where Galadan's tent would be, next to Prince Handir's he supposed.
Behind him, Ram en Ondo, Idhrenohtar and Lindo strode purposefully, and as Idhrenohtar looked over his shoulder, he was surprised to see the other five Silvan warriors following them. He smiled at their leader, the blue-eyed warrior that had spoken up when Silor had landed on the ground.
Soon enough, they stood before the tent, watching as a fuming Silor emerged with Galadan, the Sindarin lieutenant.
"Who is The Silvan?" he asked quietly, and Idhrenohtar tensed at his menacing tone.
"I am Legolas, Sir," he said confidently, and Idhrenohtar was proud of the strength behind his words.
"You have disobeyed your superior. What have you to say?"
"That I have not disobeyed Silor, Sir."
"You say he lies?" asked Galadan, his voice even softer than before.
"I do," was all Legolas said.
Galadan turned his head to Silor in a silent request to explain.
"One of the Silvans came running to me about some hidden danger. I accompanied him for it seemed whoever had claimed this could not be bothered to report it himself. Upon my arrival, in my effort to glean the truth, I was bodily blocked from this boy," he spat, "by those two, pushing me over."
The Silvans bristled at the blatant untruth, but Legolas remained silent, waiting for Galadan to react to Silor's words.
"Speak, Legolas," said the lieutenant, his eyes momentarily registering the presence of the entire camp, the warriors and even Prince Handir stood in apprehensive silence as they watched the exchange.
"Sir, I am a listener. I know that our scouts have returned with grave news, and I also know there is an added danger - a danger we were warned about more than 30 minutes ago. We are in danger…" he said, his eyes momentarily straying to Lainion.
"Wait," said Galadan, holding his hand up. "Is it true, that you threw Silor to the floor?"
"No Sir. He moved to seize me and Ram en Ondo and Idhren blocked his path, it was his own impetus that sent him to the ground, Sir, they did not push him."
Galadan's brow furrowed. "Very well, we will deal with this at the appropriate time, for now, tell me, what is this danger you claim we are in?
"Our scouts will have reported a group of mountain orcs to our left. Their party will be twenty strong, but there is a second party at the rear, larger. The group the scouts report is a decoy - they set a trap for us, Sir."
Galadan walked up to Legolas and stared him in the eye as if he had gone mad. "Our scouts have indeed reported a group of ten to our left…. how can you be so sure of this second group, of their numbers?"
Before Legolas could answer, the urgent yell of a sentinel split the air and their camp was plunged into chaos.
"Attack!" yelled the guard, "to arms, "imminent attack!"
Galadan shot a murderous glance at Silor, before rushing away to organise their defence. They had been caught off guard, and Legolas spat out his own curses in his own, deep Silvan dialect. Who should they report to? He wondered, for surely Silor would not have the gaul…
"You!" yelled Silor unnecessarily - follow Galadan and get out of my sight! he thundered at Legolas, and then span towards the rest of the Company. "And you, back to the end of the line, defend us from whatever your friend thinks is coming from there…" he spat and then smiled crookedly before striding away.
Idrenohtar, Ram en Ondo and Lindo looked at each other, completely at a loss. Would there be anyone else at the end of the line? Did Silor send them there alone to die? It was the blue - eyed Silvan that broke the awkward moment.
"Then let the Silvans defend the rear - for glory and land!" he shouted, his face alight with the rush of imminent battle and the remaining silvans shouted their enthusiasm.
Those of The Company shared a last lingering gaze upon each other, their faces set in determination and courage.
"Come then, if the Sindar would disregard the voice of the forest, we Silvans never will. We fight!" said Idhrenohtar, and with that, they were running down the line, their weapons of choice clasped firmly in their hands. And as they ran like the wind, Idhreno wondered what they could possibly do, against a host of forty, if indeed Legolas was right, and Idhreno knew that he was.
The Company stood at the rear of the caravan, half their attention on what was happening further up the line, and the other half on any noise that would confirm Legolas' claims that another, larger group would attack here, where Silor had sent them, like dead meat for the carrion birds. Not that Idhrenohtar had any doubts, but the others would, and he could not blame them for that.
Legolas had been sent with lieutenant Galadan, master archer that he was, and Idhreno could only hope he would be safer there than he would be here, even without The Company by his side. The aspiring Sindarin lieutenant had given no creedence to Legolas' warning, and there had been no further time for him to press his point. Too late, too late for Galadan or Commander Celegon to make contingency plans, Silor had seen to that with his petty arguments and unveiled racism. Perhaps, mused Idhrenohtar, he would live to see the wretch pay for his tragic lack of skill as a leader, his ignorance, his arrogance… surely there was no place for an elf such as Silor in Thranduil's militia?
The blue-eyed silvan with the face of an angel, or Galdithion as Idhrenohtar now knew him to be called, stood with his bow at the ready, eyes darting here and there, and Idhreno rather thought him a strange character; such an angelic face seemed antagonistic with the ways of warfare - he should be a poet, or a musician, a teacher, perhaps; yet there he stood in full battle mode, his brow furrowed and his weapons drawn - he reminded Idhrenohtar of Legolas, he realized.
A cry echoed down the line, and all too soon, the sounds of battle were unleashed; the twang of short bows and the whoosh of the larger, field bows ripped through the air, the scrape of metal and the cries and shouts from the warriors as they plunged into the fray mingled with the shrieks and below of the orcs they fought.
Any moment now, thought Idhreno. There were only eight of them; if the second group were indeed forty strong, that meant five for each of them. He knew their best bet would be to hide themselves and attack the surprise group from above, take them unawares. Damn their bad luck that Legolas was not here to pick them off as only he could do.
Thus it was decided, and the eight silvans hid themselves as only Woodelves could, their blood rushing through their veins, their hearts pumping furiously as they listened to the battle a little further away, their hands tightening on their bows and their skin prickling almost painfully when an elven cry reached their ears.
It was Galdithion who first signalled the approach of the group, and as they readied their weapons, Idhrenohtar caught his eye only briefly, yet it was time enough to see what surely lay in his own. Fear, dread, determination - courage, and yet - he too, knew the truth of it; too many, there were too many…
Legolas shot in rapid succession, the rhythmic release of his bow string whooshing loudly, even above the cacophony of battle below him, each arrow lodging itself with a satisfying thud in the necks of the enemy.
When at last there were no more arrows, he jumped to the ground and summersaulted forwards until he was in front of an orc that battled with Commander Celegon, stabbing it cleanly through the liver before spinning to the side and slicing another across the jugular. It screamed as it ran, hand desperately trying to contain the fountain of dark blood.
A cry off to his left had him running forwards, finding Silor struggling to parry the heavy blows of an orc that pressed it's advantage, for Silor's shoulder was hanging out of its socket. Jumping, he sent the tips of both blades into the junction between neck and shoulder, killing the beast before it crumbled to the ground.
Silor fell with a pained cry but there was no time to help him and so Legolas span, keeping the Sinda behind him. Flipping one wrist until his blade was concealed by his forearm, he used the other to stab one orc in the chest, before turning to face an open-mouthed Silor and thrusting his other arm behind him, a grim smirk and a sparkle of satisfaction in his eyes when he heard the scream of pain as blade pierced innards. Pulling back viciously on the blade, he turned once more, kicking out and catching another beast under the chin before twisting to the side, causing another orc to overcompensate and crash to the ground, where Silor stabbed it before it could rise.
Too many, there were too many, thought Legolas to himself as he fought, an unprotected Silor behind him.
Something pierced his flesh from behind. An arrow had lodged itself loosely in his shoulder blade, and with a grimace he reached behind and yanked it free with an angry hiss. No time though, for another two were runni
ng at him. Dropping to the floor he span on his back, lashing out with his legs and bringing one beast crashing to the floor, before flipping himself upwards and thrusting his blades into the other orcs' lungs.
With but a moment's respite, Legolas quickly pulled Silor to his feet and dragged him into the trees. The Sinda did not speak, for the pain of his dislocated shoulder would be excruciating, indeed Legolas was pleased he kept silent and allowed himself to be led away from the fray, however unceremonious it had been.
Running back to the field he caught Galadan's eye, before sprinting to the royal tent and ripping the canvas door open. Empty, it was empty. With no signs of a skirmish, Legolas deduced that Lainion would have whisked the Prince away no sooner the first cry to arms had been given. It was standard protocol he knew and so, strangely relieved, he turned and made his way back to Galadan's position - how he wanted to run to the end of the line and help his brothers, but Galadan held the camp with the help of but two other warriors, one of them being himself. He could not, in all conscience, leave them.
The sound of his own, harsh breathing was the only sound to reach his sensitive ears, deafening though it was, and for a long while, it was all he could hear, that and the frantic thump of his overworked heart. His breath came in harsh, gulped breaths and he adjusted his position on the floor to ease its passage and replenish his starved lungs.
Pain shot through his shoulder and one side of his chest but he cared not. He needed to regain his breath and so he held himself on all fours until slowly, the thumping and the gasping were replaced by heavy breathing. A drop of blood fell to the earth below his face and he realised he could not see through one eye. A moment of panic took him and he reached up to touch his was slick with blood that had ran into his eye. Blinking furiously he managed to clear the red haze enough to see, not blinded, thank the Valar.
He sat back on his haunches and tilted his face to the sun, closing his eyes for a moment as his head protested the movement and he grimaced through the stabbing pain at his temples. Swallowing thickly, he opened them once more and for the first time since the battle had ended, he cast his eyes around their ruined camp, licking his parched lips and grimacing at the dryness in his mouth.
The Sylvanus Page 24
