“Gimli,” said Halbarad. “Aragorn tells me you are cousin to Dain Ironfoot and Thorin Stonehelm?”

The Dwarf looked up as the Ranger sat down.  “Yes,” he answered. “That is my honor.”

It was the evening of March the seventh, 3019, and the company of the Rangers of the North, along with the sons of Elrond and the Three Hunters had come to rest at Dunharrow.  At daybreak they would make for the Paths of the Dead. 

Halbarad asked, “Do you happen to know the story of how the brothers Elladan and Elrohir, as well as the sires of my Chieftain and myself, came to share in an adventure with Thorin, Dain and the Dwarves of the Iron Hills?” 

Gimli’s eyes opened wide. “I did not!” he replied.  He was quite surprised to hear of an escapade involving both his kinsmen and the Elven princes of Rivendell, for such alliances were rare. 

“It was in the year after Aragorn was birthed,” began the Dunadan, “and his father, Arathorn II, along with his lieutenant Halbaird -- my father-- had joined the twin sons of Elrond as they often did to pursue Orcs who had ventured into Eriador...”

***

Elrohir rode point, careful not to pull too far ahead of the others as they would be hard put to catch him if he did.  Arathorn followed, then Halbaird and last Elladan, not because he was less a rider, but rather because he was the fiercest sword-arm of the lot and would deal fastest and surest death to any who sought to attack from behind, as cowardly Orcs were wont to do.  The enemies were driving their Wargs onward to the Misty Mountains and the passes to Goblin Town.  It was deadly peril to follow them there, but Elrohir cared not, for Goblin Town Orcs were of the tribe that had tormented his mother and his hatred of them burned as a fire in his heart. 

The company of four gathered together at the High Pass and plotted their strategy.  They all knew that their number was far too small, hardy warriors though they were, to stand a chance against the untold masses of Mountain Orcs doubtlessly waiting along the passages and caves.  Arathorn was brave almost to the point of being foolhardy and would not dream of denying the sons of Elrond the chance to spill the blood of their most hated foes and so would never suggest a retreat.  Halbaird however cautioned the others that returning with greater numbers might be a wise course of action.  Arathorn was the stealthiest among them being a Ranger of fifty-nine years (the prime of life for a Dunadan) and long practiced in the arts hunting and camouflage.  “I will go on ahead of you and see in what strength our enemies cluster.”  With that said, Halbaird was committed to whatever fate his captain led him.

Arathorn stole along the tangled passages, coming upon two pairs of guards, and silencing all four with his dagger.  He heard an excited cacophony of garbled Orcish voices coming from the Great Cavern some miles ahead.  He made his way back as silently as he had come.  Making his report to his fellows, he finished by gesturing toward the brothers as if to say ‘the decision is yours’. 

“We do not wish to cut short your life and that of Halbaird,” said Elladan. “However, I should like to find out what causes such excitement among the wretches -- nothing wholesome, of that I am sure.”   

Arathorn turned to his lieutenant saying, “I don’t wish to gamble with your life, Halbaird, you are recently wed and not yet a father… and our people have need of strong sons.” 

Halbaird pointed out that Arathorn was himself only recently a parent and his heir would need a father’s guidance.  “If you would go on my Captain, so would I… gladly.” 

Elrohir smiled warmly at the Dunadain.  “My friends, if their numbers be greater than two times a dozen, my brother and I will call a retreat.  Is that agreeable?”  

It was, and after biding their mounts to remain in place, they followed Arathorn’s careful lead (dispatching half a dozen more Orcs along the path).  They made their way to the mouth of the Great Cavern (and there slew four more Goblinoids).  Inside they beheld this sight:  A great multitude of Orcs gathered around a battered Dwarf.  His clothes were torn and he wore the long beard of the line of Durin, which was now caked with blood.  In the corners of the room thieving Orcs were looting the corpses of other Dwarves.  It had been a company of about a dozen travelers from the Iron Hills.  The Orcs were speaking a debased form of Westron and it quickly became clear that the Great Goblin was welcoming a most honored guest, Bolg of the North, son of Azog and king of the Orcish city of Gundabad.  The captured Dwarf was Thorin III, the scion of Dain II, decapitator of Azog.  The Great Goblin and Bolg were debating the price to buy the Dwarf for the purpose of performing untold cruelties upon him and perhaps then ransoming the remains to Dain II.

Elladan suggested disguising themselves in the cloaks of the guards they had most recently slain and stealing in to free the heir of the Iron Hills.  Arathorn concurred, but noted that the twins would have to stay furthest from the Orcs, lest their glowing Elven blades give them away.  Elrohir needed some help in making himself appear sufficiently stooped and twisted to shamble like an Orc.  Halbaird, the shortest of the four heroes was able to get closest to the captive before he was questioned by a particularly tall Uruk (one of Bolg’s people).  The brute snorted and made as if to slap the Ranger, whom he took for a lowly guard.  Before the villain could complete his strike, Halbaird drew his sword and slit the Orcish throat.  Before the gathered Orcs knew what was transpiring, swift-moving Elrohir had already moved to Thorin and cut his bonds.  From beneath their cloaks Elladan and Arathorn each drew forth a long sword and dagger and then drew black blood from Goblin flesh.  Blue and silver blades flew this way and that, painting the cavern with the insides of the Orcish throng. 

 Elladan carved a bloody path back along the passages from whence they had come (there had been more Orcs in the caverns than they had accounted for). When they reached the mouth of the cave Elrohir knelt, and drawing forth his bow, had begun firing into the oncoming Orcs as soon as his companions had cleared the entrance.   He heard strange voices shouting from behind him, but dared not turn while the enemies from the caves were still oncoming.

Elladan was stunned to see a dozen Dwarves surrounding the opening of the cave, weapons at the ready.  “What’s this?” said a grey cloaked Dwarf leaning on a huge battle-notched axe “Elves and men holding noble Thorin captive?”  

The Elf turned, blades at the ready, to the face this potential new foe.  Halbaird supported wounded Thorin with one hand and wielded his sword with the other.  Bold Arathorn stepped closer to the Dwarfish leader, whose face was partially obscured, but whose beard was visibly greyer and thicker than the others.  “We have just now rescued this fellow at great personal peril and his former captors are coming hard upon our trail!”

The Dwarven leader then revealed himself as Dain II and went to his wounded son.  Satisfied that Thorin was battered but whole, he ordered his followers to begin striking various points about the caves’ opening with pick and hammer.  “Stand clear master Elf!” he bellowed to Elrohir. 

With one fluid motion the Elf put away his bow and replaced a shaft within his quiver, then with the grace of a cat sprang several meters away to join his brother and friends.  Once he had cleared the entrance, the Dwarves began their labor in earnest, picking stress points with great precision and hammering them with great force.  The Elves and men watched with amazement as a curtain of dirt fell like a fanfare and was quickly followed by the collapse of the cave’s entrance.  There followed the gratifying screams and howls of many Orcs caught in the Dwarf-induced avalanche.  “We have not much time,” said Elladan.  “They have many other exits from their town in these mountains.” 

“Surely those smaller openings could only emit an Orc or two at a time and we could pick them off at our leisure?” inquired Dain.

“Ah, but whilst we were seeing to those few, a greater number would have time to clear the rubble you created,” countered Elrohir.

Reluctantly, Dain had to concede the Elf’s wisdom, but it pained him to have to leave behind the bodies of the slain Dwarves in the Great Cavern.  One of Thorin’s company had escaped the massacre to report it to Dain and that is how he and his party of elite warrior-engineers came to be here. The Dwarves traveled in rugged carts, each drawn by two fierce-looking mountain goats nearly the size of ponies. They revealed that Thorin and his company had been traveling West to visit his namesake Thorin Oakenshield in the Blue Mountains.  It was judged wise to postpone that visit and return the wounded Dwarf to his home in the Iron Hills to the North.

***

Finishing his tale, Halbarad fished his pipe from a pocket in his surcoat and lit it.  Gimli looked at him with amazement.  “And to think those two,” he said hocking a thumb in the direction of the twins, “once had the main share in rescuing Thorin Stonehelm from Bolg and his scum!”  Halbarad nodded and blew a ring of bluish-grey smoke into the sky.  “I must admit,” said Gimli, mostly to himself, “some Elves be stout folk indeed!”

The End