Agents of the White Council – The Hunt for Gollum

At the sound of Lanwyn’s sharp whistle, Eleanor signaled a halt. Dismounting, she walked over to where the young woman knelt on the muddy riverbank. Crouching down, she looked closely at the torn bank. “What is this?”

“Tracks, Lady. Some creature – smaller than a man but not by much – crouched here for some time. See these gouges in the bank?” Her finger deftly picked out the trace markings. “The bank slid in and took something along for the ride. It clambered out quickly, but see, these marks look like they were made by fingers.”

“What was it doing here?” The Dalewoman smiled, pushing aside broken grass to reveal a small pile of gnawed fishbones. “Fishing, Lady.”

“Well done,” Eleanor congratulated her. “We must be close. Whatever purpose the Dark Lord sees in this creature, he will not obtain it.” As quickly as it had come, the smile was gone, and it seemed like a cloud passed over her face. Then it too was gone, replaced by a look of steel and ice. With only the barest pause, Eleanor went on. “Mithrandir left instructions with me to meet a messenger at the river fork near here. Some sort of northern ranger he knows. I’m not entirely sure what aid he can offer us, but I am not of a mind to second guess a wizard today.”

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The waters of the river Ninglor rushed past below Eleanor as she stood upon the bank. A little ways off, the river split in two around a small, low islet in the middle of the stream. Behind her, she listened to the low murmur of her new companions’ voices.

The Northern ranger had given his name as Aragorn, and he seemed to be skilled at tracking, at least. And the few rangers he had brought with him seemed doughty enough, and there was a lot of ground to cover. What had surprised her was the scattered group of Elven trackers from the Golden Wood, led by Haldir, that had arrived less than two days after she had found Mithrandir’s messenger. Haldir had exchanged a few polite words with Eleanor, but had slipped into easy and friendly conversation with the ranger Aragorn, as if they had been old friends.

What business one of the half-civilized folk who lived in the wild Northlands on the far side of the Misty Mountains had with the folk of the Golden Wood, Eleanor could only guess, but their speech was in one of the Elven-tongues, and she could only catch snippets of it here and there. This ranger must have had some snatches of an education, at least.

Periodically, one of them would quietly sing a few phrases of a song that she could not understand, but the clear voice and lilting melody reminded her of the green woods she had seen on the edge of Lorien, and the voice of the elf-maiden Arwen. As they approached an old ford that crossed the river where once some road had been, all grew still. With a curt movement, she stilled her horse and dismounted, picking her way to where Lanwyn crouched, peering over the lip of a rise, watching over the suddenly steeply sloping ground. As Eleanor watched, small figures milled about, seeming to examine the ground at places.

A great hunting hawk plummeted out of the sky to perch on Lanwyn’s outstretched arm. The Dalewoman cocked her head slightly, as if listening as the bird made small screeching noises. Then she turned to Eleanor. “He says that they are Orcs, but not from this place, and that they are tracking something.” Aragorn’s voice behind her startled both of the women, and they looked back, giving him a reproachful look. “Their insignia is of Mordor. I do not think it chance that they cross our path here, so far from their home. They must be hunters sent by the Enemy to beat us to our quarry.”

Drawing her sword from its sheath – a little clumsily, for it was a new blade, and she was not yet used to its balance – she looked Aragorn in the eye. “Shall we go and turn them from their task, then? For I do not think it meet that they should go on their way unmolested as long as we have power to deny them.” With that, the little group again mounted their horses, and with a shout, Eleanor led them in a charge down among the ranks of suddenly panicked Orcs. Arrows from the trackers of Lorien flew from the trees, striking down several of the Orcs before they had even realized they were under attack.

Heedless of the strokes of their enemies, they drove the Orcs across the river, scattering and taking by surprise a small band of Goblins that had been scavenging along the western bank. The most powerful of the hunting Orcs, a hulking brute with a notched scimitar, bulled straight through the ranks of Eleanor’s guards, bringing his sword down in a mighty two-handed stroke. Eleanor’s own leaped out to meet it, and the ring of steel on steel was like a thunderbolt. Then Lanwyn drew her long-knife, a steel blade wrought by the smiths of Gondor in a long-lost time, and drove it into the back of the brutish Orc. He staggered back, turning to face his new assailant, but an Elvish arrow struck him down.

Eleanor looked to see where the arrow had come from, but the archer was gone, hidden again in the trees. Before her, the ford was clear of enemies. As she watched, Aragorn slew the last of the Goblins in the ford, while the remainder fled shrieking from the bank.

Absently, Eleanor rubbed at the ring on her finger, watching as Aragorn expertly guided his horse – a magnificent beast named Roheryn – back towards the knot of soldiers where Eleanor stood. Several of the elves milled about the ford and the far bank, searching through the torn-up ground for any hint as to what the Orcs had been looking for. As she slowly guided her band across to the southern bank of the ford, she began to remember the tales of the creature she had heard from old wives in the villages of the woodmen. The tales were chilling – children stolen from cradles, livestock left bloody and mangled, whispers of some dark sorcery returned from the ancient world.

With an effort of will, she shook off the creeping fear, and looked up to the sky. Stormclouds wreathed the tops of the Misty Mountains, miles upon miles distant, and distant thunder just barely reached her ears. A shrill whistle brought her back to the present – the folk of Lorien had been watching for the return of their enemy. Hastily, the little band held council, determining that Eleanor and Lanwyn would draw back across the ford, leading the enemy along behind. Aragorn and a number of archers would remain concealed on the bank, ready to attack from behind.

To Eleanor’s suprise, the hastily conceived plan worked perfectly. As the Orc hunters followed her soldiers into the Ford, distracted by the feint, Aragorn and the elves of the Wood charged, driving their foes before them. The Orcs broke, fleeing before the cold swords of the elves and into Eleanor’s waiting blade.

Once she had returned to the far side of the river, Lanwyn excitedly waved Eleanor over. “More tracks,” she announced. “And these are fresh, leading downstream towards Anduin.”

With renewed speed, the group pressed on down the Ninglor, Haldir of Lorien and his archers from the greenwood fanning out to watch their flanks against a renewed assault from the goblins that haunted their movements. The day passed in wearying swiftness, constantly watching for another attack. Twice the goblins drove in upon them, and twice they were driven back with much loss. As the sun sank behind the far-off eaves of Mirkwood Forest, just barely visible in the growing twilight, a cold mist began to rise off of the river.

As the night grew dark, the stormclouds that had filled the western sky above the mountains began to move in, blotting out the stars. In the darkness and the mist, even the keen eyes of Haldir and Orophin, his brother, did not see the goblins as they crept near the camp, bent on vengeance and murder. But just as the creatures leapt from their hiding places, shrieks of anger and bloodlust filling the air, Aragorn was among them. His steed whirled around in a frenzy, hooves lashing out among the suddenly fear-struck goblins, while his bright sword drove them back. That was enough, as the camp rallied from its surprised stillness and entered the fray. The goblins fell back, their bravery fleeing now that their foes were no longer unaware, and the camp soon fell into silence again.

The night passed without further incident. As they traveled downriver in the light of the morning, they saw no further sign of their enemies, although Eleanor could not shake the feeling that they were still being pursued by some creature of the Shadow. Crows flew constantly overhead, and Eleanor began to wonder if they were some spies for the master of the Dark Tower. Although Aragorn and the Elves of Lorien scattered them from time to time with their bows, they were soon back, wheeling and turning above them as they shadowed the path of the little warband, following the banks of the river.

The dawn of the fifth day since the battle at the ford found them on the edge of a small bluff from which they could view the great river Anduin, where they found Henamarth Riversong waiting for them. The river Ninglor there spilled over the edge in a waterfall, under which her waters pooled in a great pond while the current fed into the marshland of the Gladden Fields.

From the scout of Lorien, they learned that a large group of Orcs had been combing the marshlands, almost certainly searching for the creature Gollum as they were. The previous evening, their path had stopped its meandering, and now they followed a straight course down the river. Aragorn gave voice to the worry that had taken hold of all their hearts. “These Orcs are sent to hunt our same quarry, and they have found some sign of his passage. We must overtake them before they find the creature, for my heart forebodes me that the Dark Lord is staking much on this prize.” Though already weary from days of hard travel, they again mounted and began to follow Henamarth as he guided them along the trail the Orcs had left behind.

The day grew wearingly long, but slowly, the hunters began to overtake their quarry. As the sun began to set towards yet another evening, Aragorn rose from where he and Lanwyn had been reading the signs of their passage.

“They passed this place not an hour ago, but they have picked up their pace. The crows that passed overhead revealed us to them, I deem, or else their senses are as keen as a cat. We must make all haste now, before we lose them.”

The party pressed forward, speed redoubled as they pressed their weary horses to their limits. The marshland passed by around them, silent as the grave except for the intermittent buzzing of some noxious insect. In her haste, and the dimness of the twilight, Eleanor did not see the ambush the hunters from Mordor had laid for them until it was too late.

An elf of the greenwood, bow half nocked, was riding and a little to the side when the Orcs burst from their hiding places. She was cut down before she had a chance to cry out. For a moment, Eleanor felt as if time had slowed to a crawl, as the lifeless body slumped to the ground and the servants of the Dark Lord brandished their bloody blades in the air as they charged. The old Dwarf, Bofur, pushed Eleanor out of the path of the onrushing horde, brandishing his great axe. Then the battle was joined.

It was a wild, chaotic affair, as battles often are. The shouting of Men and Elves and Orcs and the clash of steel on steel made a deafening din as the lethal warriors strove together. Eleanor had rallied those of her men she could find, and gathered them into a shield-wall on a low hill that rose out of the brackish water and reeds, and there they stood off the enemy. Lanwyn, who once had cowered in fear at the sight of a battle, now stood coolly by Eleanor’s side, loosing shaft after shaft from her short yew bow. In the face of the stern discipline of the men of Gondor, and the glimmering spears and arrows of the elves, the Orc assault first slowed, then crested, then finally broke. In desperation, the war leader gathered a few of the largest Orcs around him, and made a rush towards Eleanor’s shield-wall, hoping to break it and scatter the defenders into the marshes. But Lanwyn pulled out an arrow – black of shaft and tip, fletched with the black feathers of a raven or crow – and pulled the bowstring to her ear, watching the onrushing Orcs. At the last moment, she loosed the black arrow, and it pierced the helm of the warleader and drove him backwards, where he stood for a moment before his sword dropped from nerveless hands and he crumpled to the earth. The Orcs of his bodyguard crashed into the shieldwall, but their spirits broke when they saw their leader fall, and they fled after only a few moments. Their panic spread, and shortly the whole warband was fleeing before them.

As the elves of Lorien raced after the fleeing enemy to ensure that none would return to harry them again, Lanwyn carefully walked out to retrieve her arrow. Cleaning it, she returned it to the quiver, and then walked up to Aragorn. “The battle will have disturbed the ground greatly, and I do not believe that any signs of Gollum’s passage will have survived it. But the course these Orcs were setting leads straight to the confluence, where this river meets the Anduin. There, we will find the trail again.”

Aragorn smiled at her, nodding with respect. “Your reasoning is sound. Our quarry delights in fish, and so will not long depart from the river’s edge willingly. Let us see if we cannot head off his efforts, and make up lost ground.”

As Eleanor watched them begin to make camp, swaying wearily as she rested one side against her horse, a familiar figure stepped out of the gathering gloom to stand beside her, grey robes held tight against the growing chill of the night.

“You have done well, Eleanor of Dol Amroth.” Gandalf, for of course it was he, settled down on the stump of a tree. “You have found the right trail, and thwarted some of the designs of Mordor in the doing.”

Despite her weariness, Eleanor felt the small stirrings of pride in her chest. “It is so, Mithrandir.”

He sighed wearily. “There is trouble brewing across all the North, and I cannot aid everyone. I have laid this task upon you, Eleanor, and much rides on your success here. But I cannot willingly leave others to suffer when I can send aid to them.”

Eleanor stiffened for a moment, then stood straight. “Command me, then. I have pursued the task you have set me with diligence, but if thou wilt, I will lay it aside.”

He smiled a little at that, and it seemed to her that there was sadness in it. “I do not ask this lightly, but there is no other aid I can send on this side of the Misty Mountains. A band of Troll has come down out of the hills, and seized the Carrock from the Beornings. They have already laid waste to several farms and a village of the woodmen, and they will cause more pain and suffering if they are not stopped. I will ask Aragorn to lend you a few of his kinsmen, while he and Haldir continue the search for Gollum. Will you go to the Carrock to drive off the trolls?”

Eleanor stood, stock still, for a moment. “You once told me that we were in the winding up scenes of a great jeopardy, and the lords and princes were ordering their affairs towards a final conflict. To leave off this hunt now seems folly; for if half of the fears you have confided in me are true, this creature we pursue is the key to that final conflict.” After a pause, she added. “But my heart tells me that it does not profit us to stand against the Shadow while we neglect the care of those who fall in our path. I will go.”

In the last glimmers of the setting sun, she thought she could see his eyes twinkle. “Your heart is right about a great many things, Eleanor. My thanks.” And then he was gone, his form disappearing into the rising mists of the evening that lay thick over the marsh. Sighing, Eleanor went to seek out the captain of her company. It was going to be a long month.

The end of Chapter 4.

Watch the playthrough of the quest here!