The Littlest Warrior

Chapter 7 – The Road Not Taken

Elsewhere, on the plains of Rohan, a small group of elves made their way from the city of Edoras back to their home in Lórien. For many long years the elves had traded with the Kings of Rohan. Thengel, Folcwine, Folca and before him Walda; as far back as the beginning of the second line of Kings and the Death of Helm Hammerhand, The horsemen of Rohan were famous for breeding some of the finest horseflesh in Arda, and the elves would, from time to time, buy one or two promising looking colts to incorporate into their stables.

As was their custom, they ventured to Rohan bringing the finest quality woolens and fabrics, samples of ironwork, jewelry, and medicines. They would then trade for grain, dry goods, wine, and horses. Deals were often made years in advance for the yield from the harvest of certain grapes, or the foals of particular mares and studs, and it was this occasion that brought the elves to the foothills of the White Mountains.

Having concluded their business they were returning to Lórien having made successful deals for an upcoming harvest of grapes, which showed great potential for wine making, a shipment of barley that would be delivered to them later in the year, three new colts, and Elwaith, the salabir (herb master), Master of Lórien’s apothecary (pharmacy), had samples of four new herbs that did not grow in Caras Galadhon. So it was with high hopes for the future, and good spirits that the elves wearily made their way home.

Andras Daenirion, an apprentice stable hand, was excited and still chattering away about the trip as the elves neared the border of Fangorn Forest. For Andras, who was just past his majority at 105, this was his first excursion outside the borders of Lothlórien. His father Daenir was the Ostler (stable master) of Lord Celeborn’s realm, and it was with some trepidation and much begging on the part of his only son, that he had allowed Andras to accompany the trading party to Rohan. Normally Daenir would have gone himself to trade for the horses, but Andras had convinced his father that there was no time like the present to prove how much he had learned at his father’s knee. An so it was that Andras came to be in the company of Elwaith, the nestron (healer), Hedrían, overseer for the granary and Malrin and Fael two of Lórien’s best border guards.

Andras, like all elves was fair of face. But the description scarcely did him justice. Silvery blond hair straight as Mallorn branches hung to a point just past his shoulders. His skin seemed to have a special type of glow, unusual even for an elf. Dewy and fresh; smooth as an elfling’s bottom the older ellith were inclined to tease…eyes bluer than the eggs of a robin and dimples deeper than the grottoes of Moria. A wink and a smile from his angelic face had sent more than one maiden swooning into the nearest armchair, face flushed with desire…and embarrassment.

Though still an unproven youngling he was much sought after by the female population of Lórien, and numerous ellith had tried to gain his attention. Though flattered, Andras had no time for anything more than a brief flirtation. His days, like those of his father, were consumed by horses. A consummate horseman, he’d not wasted the time spent at his father’s side. One day; though it would not be soon, his father would retire; someone else would be named Stable Master of Lórien and Andras was determined that when that day came he would be ready…and hoped his father would hand the reins over to him.

The sun was hanging low in the western sky, soon the night would be upon them, and Malrin, leader of the party and the most experienced traveler among them, decided it was time to make camp for the night. They were six days out of Edoras, near the edge of Fangorn Forest; they had been riding hard for days now, each one with his own reasons to get home quickly. Fael was anxious to get back to his wife Nínas, by now she was in her last month of pregnancy, theirs would be the first elfling born in Lórien in the last hundred years, and the little one’s arrival was a highly anticipated event.

Elwaith was eager to start experiments with his new found herbs. Always searching for any remedy that could aid in the recovery of elves after battle or injury, he could barely contain himself with thoughts that he had found something truly revolutionary for the healing arts. Hedrían was almost beside himself with his latest deal for grapes and grain, Lord Celeborn would be most pleased with his efforts, as it would allow him to send some of the barley to Imladris where it had been sadly lacking for many summers now.

Andras, always a cheerful elf, was fairly bursting with pride at the trade he’d made for the colts. He couldn’t wait for his father to see what fine young horses they were. What was more important was that Andras had dealt for them on his own; he stood his ground with an experienced horse trader, and came away with three truly fine examples of horseflesh. The fact that he’d done better than expected on the price was an added bonus.

Finally, yet importantly, was Malrin, the oldest amongst them, and the one who most wanted to be home. Malrin, a seasoned warrior, had been a border guard for over 3,800 years, and in that time he’d traveled to many places and seen many things. One thing he’d learned was that he much preferred to be behind the borders of Lothlórien, he did not like being afield. The outside world held too many dangers, too many unpredictable situations; situations that an elf might not be able to control. His most fervent wish was that he would lead his companions safely back to Lothlórien. The world of men held no fascination for him, and the tree line of his home could not come into his vision quickly enough.

They began to set up camp, lit a fire and Fael went off to take his turn untacking the horses; Elwaith agreed to cook and the others were glad of it, as he was most assuredly better at it than they were. Andras, who had not had a turn at either cooking or hunting since they left Edoras, volunteered to see if he could find fresh meat for their supper. Grabbing his bow the energetic young elf headed toward the edge of Fangorn Forest. He’d taken about ten steps when Malrin looked up from unpacking his bedroll and called out to him to halt.

“Daro Andras! Where are you heading young one, surely not into Fangorn?”

“It is but another forest Malrin,” he replied, “I do not fear it.”

“It is not the strength of your heart that worries me young one, but the tales told of these trees, I bid you find your prey elsewhere…Fangorn is not a place for one such as you.”

“One such as me?” And what is that supposed to mean?” Andras said laughingly.

“One who is inexperienced and impetuous,” shouted Hedrían with a smirk.

“Aye, skirt the perimeter if you wish, or try your hand in the Entwash, but do not venture into Fangorn young one…it is no longer a place for elves. The trees here are not always kind, and even our woodland brethren shy from it.”

Malrin’s tone left little room for doubt as to whether it was a request or a command. His many years as a Captain on the western borders had fine-tuned his instincts in such matters. He was ill at ease in this place, and his eyes continually searched their surroundings for signs of peril.

“As you wish then…but do not fault me if we have naught but berries for our sup,” he said, and off he went quietly tracking along the perimeter of Fangorn for whatever he could find.

As Hedrían settled himself on his bedroll he looked over hopefully at Malrin and softly posed his question.

“You do not really think he is in any danger do you Malrin?”

Malrin’s eyes never left the back of the retreating form of Andras, and his answer came slowly…

“The trees here are guileful…I think now that we should have gone back the way we came…gone east from Edoras first, and then north. Heading north first has brought us too close to this foul place, and the sense that we are being watched has not left me since we made camp. Do not stray too far from your weapons this night…there is a foreboding about this place that is …unsettling.”

“Aye,” said Fael as he approached the fire, “there is something worrisome here…the horses sense it, it took forever to bed them down for the night.”

Malrin thought for a moment more, still scanning the area, then said…

“I despair to ask it of you Fael, for it is surely double duty…but I think it best we bring the horses in closer…something is not right here, and I do not wish to be caught unprepared.”

“Then we are like thinking my brother, for I too do not believe this place to be as it seems.”

Bending then, he hastily untied his bedroll and retrieved his long knives. Elwaith’s eyes went wide with apprehension, and he spoke fearfully.

“You think us in danger here? Yrch?”

“Be at ease my friend,” said Fael, “Were it Yrch we would have smelled them by now. There is something not right with the trees; as long as we stay out of Fangorn I am confident we will be fine.”

“But you take your long knives with you; surely you do not need them for the trees?” Elwaith said anxiously.

“Better to be prepared than caught unaware,” Fael answered, then headed off to get the horses.

“The more I think upon it, the more I believe we should move on…cross the Entwash and settle there for the night,” said Malrin. Rising, he strapped on his sword and picked up his bow. Noticing Hedrían’s questioning look he said, “I go after the youngling…I do not like the thought of him out there alone. Stay together and start re-packing our things, we will leave this place as soon as I retrieve the lad.”

A quarter mile away Andras had just spotted another rabbit. He’d already shot two, close to the edge of the forest, but this one was further away – about fifty feet inside Fangorn. The excitement of the trip was waning, replaced by an uneasy feeling that he could not quite name. He raised his bow and drew a bead on the rabbit, releasing the arrow, it found its mark. A shoulder shot, the animal was not dead, but it was effectively pinned to the ground, it could not get away.

“Aha! We will eat well this eve,” he said aloud. Slinging his bow over his shoulder he took his first steps into the forest. Around him the air seemed to come to a standstill. Where there had been a breeze now there was no movement at all. Cautiously he looked around and took a few more halting steps toward his quarry. With each step the trees seemed to become more agitated, angry. For a moment, he thought he saw movement up ahead, and he stopped, unslinging his bow. Notching an arrow he searched the area around the base of the trees, but saw nothing. Releasing a calming breath he continued toward the rabbit “My imagination has gotten the better of me,” he said aloud.

He was only a few feet from the coney when he heard a rustling in the tree above him. He looked up just in time to see the shape of a blanket or a cape of some kind descending on him. Unfortunately, along with that shape came the weight of a body – which landed on him knocking him to the ground and forcing his breath from his chest. He struggled to move the blanket to better see his assailant, but to no avail. His arms flailed about, and he couldn’t seem to get a grip on his attacker.

Finally he was able to get one hand free from beneath the cloth, and reaching up grabbed a hand full of hair. At that moment a hand grabbed his, and he experienced the most excruciating pain he’d ever felt in his life. Andras screamed at the top of his lungs, the pain in his hand was blinding, almost incapacitating, and it seemed to be moving up his arm, he felt like his very lifeblood was being drawn out of his body. Again he screamed, but his assailant would not let go. Kicking and struggling he tried to roll his attacker under him, but his weight was just too much.

Malrin was only a short distance away when he heard the first scream. Notching an arrow as he ran he doubled his speed, calling out the boy’s name as he came. Back at the camp Fael too had heard the scream, mounting his horse and handing the reins of the other horses to Hedrían he turned as swiftly as he could in that direction yelling over his shoulder as he went…"Stay here! Ready yourselves to ride! And stay together!”

Hedrían quickly tossed the bedrolls over the backs of the horses, giving Elwaith a hand up he then mounted his own horse and drew his sword.

“It has been a long time since I have had to use this,” he commented.

Reaching into the end of his bedroll, Elwaith produced a long knife of his own…"As it has been for me old friend,” he stated. He gave his companion a knowing look, “Aye…we cannot just sit and wait…they may need us.” With that, Hedrían grabbed the picket line and heeled his horse to follow in Fael’s wake, with Elwaith right behind him.

Andras’ screams had not abated, when Malrin finally reached him the elf was writhing in agony on the ground, his arm held fast to his chest. Malrin quickly scanned the surroundings looking for his attacker – he saw nothing but the blanket on the ground. Slinging his bow, he drew his sword and cautiously approached the screaming elf. Grabbing him under the arm he pulled him to his feet and hoisted him up onto his left shoulder. Sword at the ready he moved as quickly as he could back the way he came – out of Fangorn Forest. In moments he reached the edge of the trees and he could see Fael approaching, and further back two more riders were coming fast.

Fael stopped his horse and dismounted in one swift movement.

“What has happened to him?” he questioned.

“I know not,” Malrin yelled, “Something attacked him, but I see no blood. Quickly, get him on your horse, we must get clear of this place for I can see nothing in the woods, and I do not know how many they are.”

Hedrían and Elwaith arrived just as Fael swung up into the saddle behind the injured elf.

“I thought I told you two to wait?”

“We could not…we thought you might need us.”

Malrin pulled the reins of his horse from the picket and quickly swung up into the saddle.

“East! Do not stop until we have crossed the Entwash! Go! he yelled at the others. They quickly obeyed, turning their horses east and riding hard. Staring back into the darkness of the forest Malrin swore an oath.

“Whatever has done this evil will not catch us again this night, for if it does…it will taste my blade.”

With one last look behind them, he right reined his horse and headed for the river.

In the tree above the rabbit, a being with gold-flecked eyes parted the branches that concealed him and slowly began to lower himself to the ground. Reaching the spot where the rabbit lay it squatted and playfully twisted the arrow until it struck the animal’s heart. Watching as the elves rode away it said aloud. “The next one will not be so lucky.”