For Eleanor, the wide fields and vales of the Anduin valley seemed almost a paradise after the shadows of the dark forest. The sight of the open sky lifted everyone’s spirits, and the bright sun appeared to banish the dark memories that had haunted the party after their narrow escape from the spider-demon. Some of her escort lifted up their voices in one of the songs she had heard as a child in Dol Amroth. Listening to the soaring music, she could almost believe that the worst was behind them.
But as they traveled west and south, towards where Rossiel had hidden several small rafts to make the return journey easier and safer, the landscape grew ever more blighted, as if some massive hand had scoured it of green and growing things. It reminded Eleanor of the Brown Lands far to the south, and she wondered what power had so thoroughly ruined it.
On the third day since they had left the forest, they crested a small rise to see the Anduin before them, bright sunlight sparkling off of its waters. Eager to leave the desolate lands behind them, Eleanor began to spur her horse forwards, but Rossiel held her back.
“Wait, Eleanor. Our scouts have not yet returned, and I fear that our passage has been marked.” As she yet spoke, a slight rustle of leaves announced the return of Argalad, chief of the Woodland scouts, and Henamarth, one of Rossiel’s skilled trackers. After a brief exchange, Legolas walked up to her side.
“A band of goblins has come down from the Misty Mountains and crossed the river. It is a strange thing to see, for they are far from their own country, but they are arrayed as if to bar our passage. A great hill Troll is with them, and if we ride onward, we shall shortly be assailed in force.” His voice was grave, and after a moment, he spoke again. “I do not know if I can safely escort you to the river on this path.”
Rossiel turned her gaze on him briefly, and then looked off into the distance, where the rays of the morning sun lit the far-off fields with a golden glow. “I fear that all paths are perilous now. Our passage is marked, and the hand of the Dark Lord is set against our passage. If we turn aside, we shall find other foes to bar our way.”
“I would not leave such a band of the Enemy’s servants at our backs, master Elf.” Eleanor’s voice was soft, but firm. “If other forces lie in wait to catch us in a snare, then let us do the thing they least expect. We shall go onward, and ride down the foes before us before they can send word to the others that may be lurking about.”
Legolas looked as if he would protest, but the old dwarf, Bofur, walking alongside them spoke up. “Aye, the lass has the right of it. We must set our wills against the Shadow now, for if we delay, the power against us will only grow stronger.” Thalin nodded in agreement with his uncle.
Slowly, Legolas nodded. “It must be so, then. I will send my scouts so that they may come upon the enemy unawares.” And with that, he was gone, whispering orders to his folk.
Eleanor set her escort in order, leaving the refugees they had rescued from the terror of the wood in the center, where they would be most protected. Guiding her steed to the front of the little column, she led them onward, until they came over a little rise, and could see the little hill at the edge of the water and the goblins milling about on the bank. As yet, it seemed that they had not been seen.
Drawing herself up, she spoke in a commanding voice. “The river lies ahead of us, and a host of foes between. Our enemy seeks to force us to turn back, or to flee in shame. But we shall not do his bidding this day.” Drawing her sword, she brandished it above her head. “Let us show this rabble what the courage of Gondor is! Forward!” And with that, she broke into a trot, and the company of men and elves followed after her.
But as they closed with the enemy, a thick steam began to rise from the river. Before they had gone a quarter of a mile, the fog had closed about them, so that they could scarcely see the path in front of them. Fearing that the horses would stumble in the mist, Eleanor commanded the company to slow to a walk. Beside her, Lanwyn sent her hawk, Gavin, flying into the air at great speed to see above the fog.
For a moment, all was still.
Then, with shrieking cries and raucous laughter, the goblins were upon them on all sides. Lashing out on either side with her sword, Eleanor drove through them, forcing the nearest ones back and away from the refugees, but the creatures seemed driven by some force of the Shadow, for they attacked with renewed determination even as Legolas began to fell them with arrows.
Lanwyn’s voice beside her startled Eleanor briefly, and she nearly jumped. “Gavin says that the skies are gathering blackness. An evil storm will swiftly be upon us.”
Suddenly, a guttural roar of pain and rage sounded nearby. Out of the chaos of the battle, Argalad was suddenly at her side. “Ware! The troll comes! I have pierced his eye with an arrow, but the beast will not fall.” From behind, the rising wind brought the howling of wolves to her ears. Eleanor grimaced, as the wind began to disperse the fog, allowing her to see the battle in full. “The Wargs of the mountains are known to hunt with the goblins from time to time. We must be swift, or all is lost.”
Snatching up a spear from a fallen goblin, she lifted it into the air. Then, with a loud cry, she spurred her horse into a gallop, hooves trampling the unfortunate goblins as they tried to leap out of her way. Behind her, Lanwyn and a half-dozen of her escort fought their way free of the press and followed her. Before her, half-shrouded in the last tendrils of the mist, the raging Hill Troll lumbered towards them. The fearsome creature raised a great axe with a wickedly serrated edge as it saw her, blood streaming from the arrow lodged in its twisted face. But it was too slow. As the axe began its heavy swing, Eleanor stood straight up in her stirrups, driving the spear deep into its side. Then she was past it, clutching at her shoulder. Behind her, the axe cut a great furrow in the ground, lodging in a large stone. As the troll tried to free it, one of her guard drove a spear into its knee, and it fell to the ground, where several soldiers dismounted and began stabbing at it until they were certain it would never rise again.
High in the sky, a shriek of fury drove into her mind, threatening to drive her into despair. For a moment, she hesitated. Then with a swift motion, she put her hand into the pouch on her belt and withdrew a small silver ring, set with a deep green stone. Focusing her thoughts, she desperately threw her will against the unseen presence. A moment later, it was gone, but a lingering sense of terror remained.
Turning from the wreck of the fallen hill troll, Eleanor surveyed the chaos of the fight. Under the darkening clouds, a pack of Wargs had come upon them from behind, and the defense was poorly ordered. As she watched, Thalin was borne down by a press of foes, sharp knives hacking at his armored helm while his uncle Bofur tried to hold them off with great swings of a double-bladed axe. A great wolf chieftain bore down on Rossiel, tearing cruel rents in her bright mail before a single arrow from Legolas’ bow pierced its heart. As she turned her horse towards the fight again, one of her soldiers caught her reins. Proffering his great shield, he looked at her critically. “My Lady, if you intend to ride into that press, take this for yourself.” She paused in irritation, before accepting the gift.
Rallying her little force of horsemen, she drove in again among the wolves and goblins, driving off the goblins that Bofur held desperately at bay. Thalin lay on the ground, groaning, his helm gone and blood streaming from a long cut on his scalp. She dismounted to help him rise, but Bofur shouted a warning. Just in time, she turned to face a wolf rider, darting in at her with an iron mace. The blow had been aimed at her head, but the surprise had been spoiled, and it struck her awkwardly in her injured shoulder instead. The rider was gone before Bofur or her guard could strike at it.
Thalin rose, injured, but with a fierce battle-lust burning in his eyes. Clutching in agony at her shoulder – now almost certainly broken – Eleanor tried to focus her mind through the pain. The green stone on her finger seemed to flicker with light, and the pain eased, bone and sinew knitting back together. Rising with a grunt of effort, she saw that Legolas had felled the last of the goblins nearby, and Henamarth shot down a sniper that had been sitting in a tree, firing arrows at the melee. The wolf rider, it’s mount snarling and frothing at the mouth, charged in again at them, but Eleanor was ready. The mace fell against her shield, but she turned the blow aside. Another arrow from Legolas felled the mount, and Bofur made short work of the rider. The remaining goblins fled, then, their shrieking cries turning to terror.
One of Lanwyn’s brothers rode up, his face clouded with anger. “You will lead us all to death and ruin! I do not know why…”
Eleanor cut him off sharply. “Peace, Oswyn. When we left the Elven-king’s halls, accompanying us seemed a less perilous road to you than braving the long leagues back to Dale alone with companies of Orcs on the prowl. Though the Enemy has been unceasing in his efforts to destroy us, we remain.” Then, her voice softened a little. “Your sister is yet safe, and it remains now only to pass down the river to Lorien before we can return you all safe and hale to your homes. Peace.”
Lanwyn helped her mount her horse again, though she gasped in pain as her injured arm twisted. “We must get out of this desolate wasteland. We are too exposed here. Rossiel, where is your raft?”
Rossiel guided them to the edge of the river, where water plants grew thickly and a few trees graced the shore despite the desolation further inland. Her wounds had been bound up, though she moved stiffly. “Here,” she said. “Under this covering.” Then two of her trackers reached into the shallow water and lifted. With astonishment, Eleanor saw a grey-hued raft rise from the river, water streaming off of it. “We sank the rafts in the river with stones to hide it from prying eyes.” Rossiel turned a critical eye towards their party. “It is well that we set out from Lorien on three rafts, in case we chanced to meet some mishap upon the water. They shall now scarcely suffice to carry our company and the horses.” And with that, her trackers set to work raising the rafts from the bed of the river.
* * * * * *
As they set off down the river, the clouds gathering overhead, the banks passed slowly by on either side. Soon, the desolate lands were hidden behind green hills and wooded copses, which gradually began to give way to marshlands. One of the healers in Rossiel’s company began to tend to their wounds, though Rossiel herself stood apart from them, refusing all assistance.
Lanwyn sat next to Eleanor as the healers bound her shoulder, marveling that the bones were not broken. “What is that ring you are wearing?” The young Dalewoman asked it abruptly, as if she had been holding the question in for a long while. “I do not think I have seen it before.”
Eleanor smiled at her. “It is a beautiful thing, isn’t it? The Elves made it, long ago. I found it in one of my father’s storerooms when I was a child; I do not know how it came there. It aids me in focusing the mind and bolsters my will against the Shadow. Other times it has sped my recovery when I have taken hurt or injury. Mithrandir once warned me not to use it except at great need, but what dangers it may hold I do not know.”
As the rafts floated slowly along the river, the two women were interrupted by a cry from Henamarth. “Orcs, on the shore! They are taking axes to the trees!” As they drew nearer, they saw that several logs had been tied together into crude rafts, and launched into the stream, with dozens of Orcs crammed together on top of them or hanging to the sides as they floated slowly towards the little raft.
With growing worry, Eleanor called out to Legolas, whose raft followed nearest to them. “We must do something to hinder these Orcs, else we shall be overrun!” But it was Rossiel who responded. Her face lined with grief, she closed her eyes and raised her hand. One of the great trees on the shoreline, already cruelly hacked by the Orcs, dropped a massive limb, crushing a half dozen Orcs beneath it and scattering a dozen more. From the middle of the river, it was difficult to see clearly, but it looked as if the tree moved on its own, disrupting the hive of activity.
The archers began to loose arrows at the oncoming Orcs, picking their targets with care, but the Orcs drew ever closer, and their numbers seemed only a little thinned by the darts. Suddenly, the little company in the river felt a dark fear come over them, and a fell voice cried out high above them, as if it were flying on some great bird. Eleanor drew up her will again, to put herself against the unseen adversary. But even as she threw her will into the struggle, a crushing despair fell over her, and she fell. When she struggled back up, the Orcs were upon them.
For a few minutes, all was chaos and confusion. One of her escort was felled by Orc blades trying to protect her as she rose, and several of the refugees from the Wood were swept into the river by the onslaught. As Eleanor desperately fought to push the Orcs back, she saw the healer who had administered to her fall in the press. And then a flight of arrows passed by, pinning a dozen Orcs to the floating logs. With a great effort, the defenders cut down the last of the Orcs on their raft, or drove them shrieking into the River, and pushed the crude craft away to spin in the current.
But their reprieve was only short lived. Another raft filled with Orcs was nearly upon them, and pacing them on the shore were more goblins of the Misty Mountains, with wargs running ahead. To make things worse, the black clouds had begun to rain, and lightning crashed overhead.
With her honor guard at the ready, Eleanor faced the onslaught of Orcs. Lanwyn fought fiercely, her hawk Gavin wheeling in the rising winds to strike at the eyes of one Orc, or to buffet another into the increasingly turbulent river. As the assault was driven off again, Eleanor surveyed the surroundings with growing concern. Over the howling wind, she shouted to Rossiel. “We cannot go on much longer in this storm! We must put in to shore!”
Nodding in agreement, Rossiel gave signal to Legolas and the third raft to put in, fending off another raft of goblins as they did so. As they watched, another raft broke apart in the mounting water, dumping goblins and orcs into the river while Legolas and the archers shot at them.
By the time the rafts and their small band of travelers reached the shore, the sky was black and the wind whipped the rain into their faces, making archery useless. In later years, Eleanor remembered but little about that exhausting, blood-soaked landing. The dull thunder of the wind and the freezing rain whipping at her little band as they stood knee-deep in the water pressing forward into the mass of goblins. The howling cries of wolves and the shrieks as the undisciplined troops broke before them, scattering and being cut down by Orcs from Dol Guldur desperately trying to force them into the fight. One moment, though, was seared into her memory.
A gutteral roar, as another Hill Troll emerged out of the gathering gloom, charging in to break their line. A bright light as Rossiel warded it off, and a sudden lull in the wind. The triumphant screech of Lanwyn’s great hunting hawk as it tore into the eyes of the beast, and the thud of Legolas’ arrow as it found the Troll’s heart.
The Orcs scattered quickly after that, as the lightning intensified and the storm began to redouble its fury. The little company of Elves and Men desperately took cover in copses and groves, under bushes and banks, all while the skies vented their fury on the banks of the Anduin.
It felt like hours before the wind and rain slackened, and the sky grew light again in the East. But when the storm had passed, not an Orc or a Warg could be seen. The pathway to the Golden Wood lay open.
But as Eleanor rallied the remnants of the little band, one absence in particular tore at her. Lanwyn was gone, disappeared in the chaos of the evil storm.
The end of Chapter 2.
Watch the playthrough of the quest here!