The grizzled old man sighed as Eleanor and her companions finished relaying their tale.
“Aye,” he said. “Grimbeorn has had news of a Trollkin on the Carrock. He stormed off in a rage not three days past to put an end to its mischief. But if what you say is true, then there may be more than just a single Troll. Mighty though he is, he may be outmatched.”
He unlimbered himself, stretching with several audible cracks as he stood up from the massive chair he sat in. He was a huge man, Eleanor noted. Even grayed and bowed with age, he seemed to fill the hall they sat in.
“I suppose I ought to go find the young whelp and bail him out of whatever trouble he’s gotten himself into now.” With that, he moved towards the door.
“Wait!” Eleanor called. “Let us go in your stead. I would not wish harm to come to you.” She had deliberately avoided mentioning his age, but he laughed wryly anyways.
“You think I’m too old for this fight, don’t you? Well, let me tell you something. I’ve seen more than eighty summers, but I’m still as hale as any man in the vale of Anduin, and mightier than most of them will ever be. The Trollkin will learn that they should still fear the name of Beorn!”
With that he turned to the door. “Well,” he asked. “Are you coming?”
***************
“The Trolls are reported to be making camp on or near the Carrock,” Thurindir reported. “From that vantage point, they can keep watch on the countryside for miles around. I advise that we do not approach rashly, but rather gather information about their position, their numbers, and anything we can learn about Grimbeorn before we engage them in battle.”
Lanwyn shivered a little, gathering her courage together. Until she had left her home with Eleanor, Trolls had been monsters in stories that parents told to frighten their children. It was only a few years ago that her own parents had told her such stories. Don’t go out after dark, or the Trollkin will catch you. Trolls wait under bridges to catch little girls who lie to people. If you don’t mind your parents, the Trollkin will sneak into your room at night and carry you away. The unwelcome memory of the bestial roar and hungry maw of the Hill Troll on the banks of the Anduin was all too real for her liking. Pulling her bow from its case on her back, she ran her hands along its length, feeling the laminated fibers for unseen damage. It was a comforting ritual.
Her motion caught Thurindir’s eye, and he paused from reading the tracks on the ground. Grunting, he walked over to her. “It’s a beautiful piece of workmanship, to be sure, but that child’s toy will hardly tickle a Troll.” From inside the thin bedroll he kept rolled up on his back, he pulled a short sword, ornate runes carved into its blade. “Take this. Dwarf-make, from Moria. The best you can find on either side of the Misty Mountains, unless you plunder some Elvish weapon of the elder days from some Valar-forsaken treasure horde. It will carve the hide of a Troll as surely as ice cracks stone.” Wordlessly, she accepted the weapon from him, and he turned silently back to his tracking.
Eleanor rode ahead of the company, a few of her honour guard close by while the others were strung out in a long line behind them. The wide fields of clover on either side of the path seemed almost cultivated, and bees were everywhere. Far overhead, a great hunting eagle circled, the sound of its cries coming only faintly to her ears. One bee buzzed so close to her horse’s ears that it spooked, and it had dashed nearly a quarter-mile across the fields and into the sparse trees on the other side before she could bring the beast under control again.
Two of her honour guard rushed to catch up to her, and Eleanor laughed despite herself. From the trees to her left, one of Thurindir’s scouts glared at the noise reproachfully, while Beorn watched behind him with a faint half-smile on his face. The aged man still had his hand to the ground, where he had been showing the scout some sign in the damp earth.
Bofur came puffing up behind her, with Lanwyn and Thalin close behind. “You should not go running off like that, lass,” the old dwarf chided her. “You could have fallen and broken your neck.”
She chuckled again, under her breath this time. “As you say, master Dwarf. I shall take more care with the bees next time.”
Their path descended into a misty river bottom, where the ground grew soggy beneath their horse’s hooves, and they slowed to a crawl. Thurindir held up his hand to stop them, pointing towards a large shape, slithering through a watery channel before them. “Giant marsh adder. A big one, from the looks of it. Could eat a man whole, best be careful.”
“Well warned is well armed, as my father was wont to say. Thank you.” Eleanor smiled at the gruff man briefly. “Shall we wait for it to pass?”
Beorn snorted in derision. “I haven’t held dominion over this land for decades just to let some foul serpent bar my way when I choose to pass.” And shouldering aside the guards that had interposed themselves between the snake and the party, he strode forward with a confident gait.
A great hissing noise arose, followed by the sucking sound of the marshy ground as the great serpent reared its head back to strike at the leader of the Beornings. As its head darted forward, quicker than sight, Beorn caught its neck in his massive hands, holding the massive head away from him. His massive forearms bulged as the great beast pressed forward, but it could gain no ground. Quickly, Lanwyn darted forward, her dwarf-blade lashing out to open deep gashes in the serpent’s underbelly. Sensing the sudden weakness, Beorn shifted his grip and twisted his hands. With a loud snap, the giant adder fell still.
Thurindir and his pathfinders led them down the streambed towards the banks of the great river. The time passed slowly, and Eleanor struck up a conversation with one of the northern rangers, talking about old troll stories they knew. One in particular, where the trolls had captured a poor traveller and were just about to roast him slowly over their campfire had nearly made her laugh out loud when suddenly Thurindir pulled them up short.
She hardly had time to ask what was wrong when suddenly a small band of Goblins marched out from the trees. They were apparently as surprised to find the band of travelers as Eleanor was to see them. With a growl of guttural rage, Beorn leapt forward at them, and Eleanor and her honour guard followed close behind. The melee was swift and brutal, and they slew more than a dozen goblins before the rest fled shrieking with terror.
Above, the great eagles of the misty mountains still circled, but they were lower now, as if they were slowly approaching some unsuspecting prey. As the hours drew on towards dusk, the rangers laid out some nets around their camp, less than a mile from the banks of the great river Langflood. As she drifted off to sleep, the burble of a dozen small streamlets reminded Eleanor of the waters of the Silverlode, on the edge of Lorien, and the elf-maiden Arwen she had met there.
***************
They were awoken in the grey light before dawn by a bestial roar and the sounds of a mighty struggle. Blinking the remnants of sleep away, Eleanor struggled our of her sleeping roll, reaching for her sword. At the edge of the clearing, a great Troll struggled against nets that had caught it unawares, tangling itself further with every movement. On the ground nearby, a large sack lay, tied neatly. From the spasmodic jerkings coming from it, Thalin – who had been on watch – was trussed up in it. With a roar, Beorn charged the Troll, Amarthiul and Lanwyn close behind, their blades cutting deep rents into its thick and knobbly hide.
Thurindir ran to the sacked dwarf, expertly slitting the bag open. The dwarf rose, gasping for breath, while the pathfinder wrapped his wounds with a poultice. As Eleanor moved towards the battle, however, a series of howls rent the night air. She whirled, raising her sword in a desperate defense as a half-dozen black wolves flowed into the campground, swarming over the desperate defenders. Only just in time, Eleanor interposed her blade between herself and a leaping wolf, the force driving the sword into its chest all the way to the hilt. As she struggled to draw it out again, a thick burlap sack suddenly covered her vision, and the stench overwhelmed her momentarily. Then a heavy blow fell on her shoulders and neck, and her vision went black.
***************
She came to some time later. The air was blessedly sweet, and a soft scent, hauntingly familiar, filled her nostrils. Thurindir was binding a poultice around her shoulder, most likely the source of the sweet smell. For once, the ranger’s gruff face was softened in concern.
“What happened?”
“What’s the last thing you remember, miss?” His voice was still rough, but not so short as it had been.
“There was a Troll, caught in the nets. It had Thalin caught in a sack. It’s all kind of blurry, but I think there were wolves howling, and then everything was dark and I couldn’t see.”
Thurindir looked up at someone she couldn’t see. “She’ll be alright, miss. Didn’t do any permanent damage to her neck, and she remembers it well enough.” Lanwyn rushed around to where Eleanor could see her.
“Thank goodness! I was so worried. I was fighting the Troll that caught Thalin, and then suddenly, there were wolves everywhere and it was all chaos and confusion, and then there was a second Troll that came just out of nowhere. It must have caught you in a sack while you were distracted by the warg you killed, and knocked you senseless.” She shook her head ruefully. “While we were out trying to gather information about them, they must have found our trail, and massed at night to try and overwhelm us. It nearly worked, too. If it hadn’t have been for Beorn, we all might have been lost. But he fought the second Troll to a standstill, and slew it almost single-handedly. It was a mighty deed, though he doesn’t seem to think it worth mentioning.”
“Was this all the Trolls we came to fight? Have we found Grimbeorn?”
“Nay, lady. My brother Oswyn and one of the rangers have just returned from their scouting. At least four more trolls have made a camp of sorts on the Carrock itself. We may have to storm the heights to drive them out.”
Sighing, Eleanor rose, slipping her hand into her backpack to find her ring, a small silver band, set with a green stone. Do not despair, she told herself. That is the tool of the Great Enemy. Hope is the greatest defiance of all.
***************
While her soldiers gathered, Eleanor sat in her saddle, watching the looming form of the Carrock. The mid-morning sun shone brightly, and the shadow of the massive rock stretched across the ford and onto the bank where her horse stood. A shift of the wind suddenly brought a foul stench to her nostrils, rotting meat and worse. Her horse reared in fright, and let out a loud whinny of terror before she could calm it down.
Looking out at the warlike group she had assembled, she laughed bitterly. “Not as if they didn’t know we were coming before.” Beorn, beside her, gave a loud guffaw. Then he pointed to the sky. “A good omen. The Eagles of the Misty Mountains are gathering.”
Confused, Eleanor looked up to the sky, where the great eagles circled again. They looked lower this time. Perhaps sensing her lack of understanding, Beorn went on. “They hate Trolls and Goblins nearly as much as I and my folk do.”
“Will they aid us?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But it is a good omen nonetheless.”
With that pronouncement, he began to stride towards the ford that separated them from the Carrock. Eleanor followed, her soldiers forming up about her in close order. As they reached the ford, large adders began to slither in the muck, trying to avoid the hooves of their horses. The ones that could not coiled themselves between rocks, hissing in agitation as the waters churned beneath their steeds. Above them, on the heights, four Trolls watched them cross.
Watching the Trolls as they stood, impassively overlooking the crossing soldiers, Lanwyn turned to Eleanor with a shudder. “How are they able to stand the sun? I always believed that Trolls would turn to stone if they were caught out in the light of day.”
Eleanor frowned, troubled. “The Dark Lord has bred many foul things over the centuries. Perhaps he has bred a race of Trolls who do not fear the sun. Or perhaps these are protected by some dark magic. I do not know.”
She might have gone on, for such talk was a welcome distraction from the building tension. But the largest of the Trolls on the heights gave a mighty roar, and leapt down among their group, and the other followed. Eleanor raised her sword over her head and charged, crying out in a loud voice, and the battle was joined.
Amarthiul was the first into the fray, expertly sidestepping his armored destrier around a hissing muck adder, then parrying a two-handed swing from a great axe. He then turned and lashed out at the next troll with a feint, throwing the creature momentarily off balance. As Eleanor looked around for Beorn, she watched the man’s skin grow black fur, and suddenly where the old man had been was a great bear of massive size. The sound of its rage was like an avalanche, and its claws tore into another Troll, heedless of the frantic blows raining down on its pelt.
Eleanor turned another blow aside with her shield, just in time to hear a great shriek and a whistling noise, as three great eagles dove low above the Carrock, raking the Trolls from above with their talons. With howls of rage, the Trolls flailed about in the air. One must have had an inordinate amount of luck, for its club struck one of the great birds squarely in the wing, and the mighty eagle tumbled out of the sky to crash onto the bank.
Lanwyn seemed to be everywhere, with her long dwarf-forged blade striking out at the Trolls. For a moment, the beleaguered defenders and the Trolls seemed to be locked with each other, and Eleanor suddenly feared that the defenders would break before the savage onslaught, even with the support of the Eagles. But then the bear that had been Beorn gave a mighty roar, and fastened its jaws on the throat of the Troll it had grappled.
The Troll to the ground, black blood spraying out in spurts, and Eleanor’s soldiers and the Dunedain together gave a great cheer, and pressed forward. With one of their number fallen, the remaining Trolls were stricken with sudden fear, and the relentless press of the Dunedain and the rage of the great bear soon overcame them. One after another went down, streaming black blood from a dozen wounds and flailing ineffectually against the shields and mail of the soldiers of Gondor.
As the last Troll fell to Lanwyn’s blade, Eleanor gave a great sigh of relief. The eagles above screeched in triumph, and Beorn walked over to her, in man form once more. “That was bravely done.” He nodded in respect, his teeth flashing in a brief smile before he spit over the edge of the heights into the river. “I’ve always hated the taste of Troll blood in the morning. I have half a mind to go and take a great draught of the river to wash my mouth clean again. If you and your friends will join me, I say we should follow it with bowls of mead.”
A sudden commotion from below drew their attention. A shaggy, black-bearded man had rushed out of the forest, a great axe in his massive hands. Eleanor looked at the Beorning leader next to her, then back to the newcomer. The family resemblance was unmistakable. “Your son?” She asked, but the answer came in the next breath as he called up to them.
“I was hunting Goblins and a Troll in the woods when I heard the sound of battle from the river. I came as quickly as I could. I don’t suppose you have left any for me?”
The end of Chapter 5.
Watch the playthrough of the quest here!