Chapter 13: Old Friendships Renewed

[dustinrstrong]

It had been twenty years since the Sun had first risen over Beleriand and the coming of Fingolfin.  Although the division among the Noldor had slowly begun to heal, the Sons of Feanor still chose to move into the east, removing themselves from any lingering hostility.
In the north, near the headwaters of the River Narog, Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, made a great feast at the Pools of Irvin.  There, at the feet of the Mountains of Shadow, the lands were green and fair.  The joy of that feast was remembered long after and it was called Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting. 
Many chieftains of the Eldar came with their people; Fingolfin and Finrod; the Sons of Feanor, Maedhros and Maglor, with warriors from the eastern march; Sindar also came from the Havens with their lord, Cirdan; there came even Laiquendi from Ossiriand, Shaelina and the Naugrim, Curucam, among them; but out of Doriath came only two, Mablung and Daeron, bearing greetings from King Thingol.
During the Feast, many councils were taken in good will, and oaths were sworn of alliance and friendship; and it is told that at this feast, the language of the Sindar was spoken most often, even by the Noldor.  The hearts of the Noldor were high and full of hope, and it seemed that the words of Feanor had been justified, bidding them to seek freedom and kingdoms of their own in Middle Earth.
Among the gaiety of these festivities, the Companions were reunited at long last.  They had not all been together since the days following the saving of Maedhros, and many, many hours were spent in catching up with each others' adventures.  Telemire was there, and all of the Companions were cheerful to see him again.  He had been recovering from the wounds he received in a battle with a fire demon and had not been able to join in the rescuing of Maedhros.  But after twenty years, his wounds had fully recovered, even the scars on his heart had begun to fade as he reconciled with his son.
But not all those who attended were so joyous.  The messengers of Thingol, Mablung and Daeron, had secreted away e'Narmire to seek his council.  The Companions had noticed this, but thought nothing of it, as Thingol and e'Narmire were kin.  But they soon learned otherwise.
As the Feast continued unabated, Thingol's messengers departed and e'Narmire sought out the Companions, dressed in traveling clothes.  "I must depart for Doriath, my friends.  My kinsman is in need of assistance," he said.  "Enjoy your celebrations for as long as you like, but do not tarry too long, for if what I fear is to come to pass, I may have need for your blades."  All of the Companions knew what e'Narmire meant—their revelry had suddenly come to an end.
It took a couple of days' preparation, but Telemire, Taurensil, Shaelina, and Curucam anxiously set out for Doriath.  They did not welcome the prospect of more fighting, especially Telemire who had grown accustomed to a life of peace, but e'Narmire's warning did not bode well.
Setting out behind e'Narmire, the four Companions followed his path eastward.  The road was not a difficult one and they did not push hard to catch up.  If e'Narmire was worried, then they had best save their strength. 
It was an enjoyable journey, much of the time being spent at a comfortable pace as they continued to entertain each other with more of their tales.  The warm spring weather almost made them forget that their own deaths may soon be approaching.  Telemire began to feel a shadow descend around him.  He had cheated death at the hands of a fire demon twice and he became convinced that his luck would not last.
Within a couple of days, they crossed the River Teiglin and the trees of Doriath soon came into view over the horizon.  Curucam took the lead, as he was the only one of the group that had been to Doriath.  It was a spooky place for a Naugrim, with all of the trees and shadows and such, but once a traveler laid eyes upon the city of Menegroth, all such fears disappeared.  Curucam began to describe the great city, cut into the rock of a mountain by his kinsmen.  It rivaled the halls of Belegost and Nogrod in its construction.  "An elf that is a cave-dweller," mused Curucam, "he must have the heart of a Khazad!"
The road they followed was well-known to the dwarf.  It was the primary trade route between Beleriand and the dwarf-holds in the Ered Luin, and Curucam had traveled it many times.  It ran between mountains to the north and the realm of Doriath to the south.  As the road crossed the River Esgalduin, the Companions would turn south, as this river ran straight into Menegroth, thus avoiding any chance of becoming lost among the dark trees.  "Nasty, vile hunters live within those woods," commented Curucam, "and they are not the best of hosts.  It would be best to avoid such an encounter."  Then, realizing that he was indeed talking about Doriath's Elven sentinels, he sheepishly apologized to his fellows.
"It is quite alright, Master Naugrim," Shaelina reassured him.  "No offense was taken."  Curucam and the others immediately caught Shaelina's meaning, and the 'stunted one' gave her a broad smile and laughed to himself.
As the Companions neared the River Esgalduin, they made camp.  They would start fresh in the morning.  The journey had been pleasant and peaceful and was now nearing its end.  Within another couple of days, they would be in Menegroth.  It seemed as if e'Narmire had been exaggerating about the danger around Doriath.  But Shaelina and Taurensil sensed something sinister.  Something new and terrifying.  Exchanging knowing looks, they uneasily began to make camp with wary eyes. 
Then a familiar scream cut through the air.  First one, then another, then several more shrieks came from three sides.  They were quickly followed by the familiar thud of arrows striking home, one in Curucam's knapsack.
From the north, northeast, and northwest, a raiding party of orcs burst from the rocky outcroppings along the road.  Caught by surprise, the Companions lost valuable time pulling blades from their grounded scabbards, and the small band of orcs closed in for the kill.  But they were mistaken if they thought this would be the easy prey of hapless travelers.
Curucam managed to grab one of his throwing axes and his mattock just as one of the raiders closed on him.  Swinging in a powerful arc, he caught his tormentor square in the chest with the lethal spike, releasing the handle as it made contact, and sending the orc flying.  A second orc, following close behind and not realizing what had just happened to his comrade, quickly fell victim to a throwing axe to his skull.  Unarmed and hard-pressed, Curucam was left with only one option—he charged!
It was surprising to see a creature of such wide girth move so quickly.  A third orc had no idea what had hit him until he regained his senses long enough to see Curucam bash his head in with his own war helmet.  The lightning ferocity of such an attack checked the rush of a fourth raider.  This gave Curucam time to pick up a jagged stone as big as his fist, rise to his feet, and rush again.  The orc was about to turn and retreat back into the cover of the boulders, but was brought down by an arrow in the leg from Shaelina's bow.  Curucam pounced again, and the fourth orc met as gruesome a fate as his comrade.
Shaelina was furthest from the point of attack, allowing her time to ready her short bow.  As she nocked her first arrow, she spied Curucam's onslaught.  One orc was trying to flee in desperation, but fell prey to the dwarf's attack as Shaelina slowed his retreat with a dart to the thigh. 
Her attention was turned away from Curucam as an orc arrow narrowly screamed by her head.  With lightning reflexes, she spun around, readied her bow, and fired.  Such a rushed shot glance off the boulder her attacker was hiding behind, but it was close enough to make him think twice before sticking his head up again.  Shaelina readied another arrow and found a third target, felling it with a shot through the arm and into the lungs.
   Taken in the arm in the first volley and closest to the point of attack, Telemire retreated behind Taurensil.  Curucam was the only member of the company to have kept his armor on during the journey and Telemire was now thinking he should have done the same.  Still, the smith pulled his blade free and prepared for battle, with a growing feeling that this would be his last.
Spying his gear laying near where he had been hit, Telemire made a lunge for it as a raider recklessly charged him.  He effortlessly parried the attack to the left, rotated his wrist, and then slit the orc's throat with a right cut.  A second orc attacked from Telemire's left.  With exquisite grace, Telemire stepped to the left and back, avoiding the clumsy attack as the orc's momentum carried him past.  Telemire's blade then found its mark across the orc's back, severing the spine.  With no other immediate threat, he hurriedly grabbed his maille and retreated again behind Taurensil's blade to quickly don his armor.  His bloodlust was burning in his veins again, as if his blade had never left his grip over the past twenty years.
   Neither had time slowed Taurensil's reflexes.  His skills had remained as sharp as his blade, a point which Orcbane demonstrated efficiently.  As Telemire was spun about from the initial barrage, Taurensil's blade seemed to leap from its scabbard.  He viciously cut down an orc that was close on the heels of the retreating smith, cleaving its skull across the face.  A second raider charged, winding up for a devastating attack.  The ranger also charged, throwing his hip into the orc's gut and, locking his arm under the creature's, flipped him over.  As the orc crashed hard to the ground, Taurensil reversed his blade and drove it into the raider's chest.  A third orc's wild swing caused Taurensil to drop to one knee.  A well-placed punch doubled the orc over where Orcbane grabbed its head, and with a quick jerk, broke its neck before retrieving his blade.
Almost as soon as it had started, it was over.  The few remaining raiders retreated back into the outcropping, having had enough, or so the Companions thought.
A horrible roar came from behind Curucam on the northwestern flank.  The Naugrim looked up as he finished bashing in the head of the fourth orc to see a monstrous creature charging him.  Curucam froze, fear gripping him momentarily.  The creature was soon on him, mauling the stunned dwarf with razor-like claws before casting him aside and leaving him for dead.
The beast then turned its attention to the nearest target, Telemire.  But the smith, having seen what had just happened to his friend, felt a rage build up inside of his soul, and without regard for his own safety, and resigning himself to his fate, charged the fell creature.
The creature, however, was ready for the onslaught.  Though Telemire's blade drew blood, cutting deep into the monster's flesh, it did not seem to slow down.  As if with an unnatural rage that could only be born in the fires of Thangorodrim, it savagely tore into Telemire's body and leaving him a bloody heap on the ground.
Out of desperation, Taurensil also charged the beast and Shaelina began pelting it with arrows.  The ranger dodged the animal's attacks, his blade finding its mark, making the vile thing howl in agony.  But the savagery of Taurensil's attacks only seemed to barely slow it down, and the ranger knew he could not keep up this onslaught for much longer.
Preparing for one final, furious attack, the beast stopped, gave a bewildered look, and fell to the ground with a crash.  It was then that Taurensil noticed the arrow sticking out of the beast's right eye. 
It was over too quickly and it took a few seconds for Shaelina and Taurensil to realize it.  Cocking his head to the left, Taurensil looked at the arrow in the beast's head.  He thought it had come from Shaelina, but the fletching was not hers.  He recognized it, but not immediately.
As he heard e'Narmire's voice, it dawned on Taurensil whose arrow had brought the beast down.  He looked at the Vanyar with tears welling up in his eyes.  He had just seen two of his comrades brutally hacked down by a beast he had never seen before.  He only uttered one word as e'Narmire approached, "Why?"
The Vanyar put his hand on Taurensil's shoulder.