[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hænir shouldered his axe and followed Bali and Erulon into the thickets. He did not speak aloud what he was thinking, but his unease was growing quickly into alarm. Durin and Dwalin should not have been sent out alone to gather wood in these lands. Since the fall of Mordor the lands were safer but by no means should their party be sent off wandering about in small groups. Now, they were following them into unknown danger, having made no plans and having left but one guard at the camp to watch over all of their provisions. Hænir found it hard to admit this to himself, but he chafed against the overbearing manner of Bali, who seemed to feel that it was his place to order folk about at will. For a week, Hæenir had done as he was told, but he was beginning to reach a point at which such unquestioning obedience could be dangerous – there was no order to their approach, and no discussion amongst the Dwarves of their strategy in the search. He looked back at Nerin and Narvi who followed him. He had grown quite fond of Nerin in the week since they’d left Laketown. Although conversation between them had been little – for neither of them were over talkative – they had found that they had much in common on this journey insofar as both of them felt a bit like outsiders in the group, and made a little uneasy by their status.

Erulon and Bali found a trail and they plunged further into the woods. More than ever Hænir missed the King’s Companions and the easy authority that he enjoyed within their ranks. He had never thought of himself as a leader, and he had no illusions that he had ever enjoyed rank or prestige among the captains of the realm, but among the Companions he had been considered one of the most steady and trustworthy foot soldiers of the King, and over the years he had grown accustomed to having his opinion both asked for and respected.

The discovery of Durin’s and Dwalin’s sudden flight brought him out of his reverie and concentrated all of his attention on their plight. Bali and Erulon were attempting to read the signs, but all Hænir could sense was the presence of an overwhelming danger. He sniffed the air, and picked up on the wings of the breeze the hint of a familiar and dangerous scent. Before he could form the word, somebody cried out “Orcs!” and in a moment they all saw the unmistakable signs of their foul passage through the trees. Without waiting to speak of it, the Dwarves rushed headlong into the forest to find their friends. Even Hænir, who would normally have railed against the lack of due order, flew with the rest of them, fearing what might befall the likeable Durin and Dwalin.

It was not hard to find them, for a sound broke out from the woods before them, and somewhat to the left, that sounded like the cry of a pack of wild and bloodsoaked dogs. But the cries were not those of mindless animals, for there was sense in them – but the words were in the rough and ugly sound of the Black Speech. Hænir had heard that speech before, and as he heard it his face became grim and his axe came to the ready. The five of them rushed toward the cries, speaking no word and trying to run as silently as they could. But there were heavily armed Dwarves, and not fleet-footed Elves, and even over the din of their hatred, the Orcs could not long miss the sound of their iron-shod approach.

The monsters were soon in view, flitting and dancing between the trees. There were just over a dozen of the creatures, and they had circled two trees. Some were casting spears up into the branches while four or five of the smaller Orcs were shimmying up the trunks. The Dwarves rushed forward, and at the very last moment that Hænir judged that they could go unnoticed by the Orcs, he roared his battlecry to strike terror into their foes, and hearten his friends. “Erebor!” he cried, “Erebor!” and with one swift flight of his axe he sent an Orc’s head tumbling through the air, blinking in surprise at the sight of its own decapitated body. The Orcs turned and cried out in hatred and rage and drove at the Dwarves. The first to come in reach of Hænir’s axe fell beneath it, but two more came at Hænir from the sides. He spun about to the one on the right and cleaved its sword arm from its shoulder, trusting in his armour to protect his back from the other beast. His trust was well placed. The blow staggered him and nearly forced him to his knees, but there would be nothing more than a bad bruise between his shoulders. He spun about once more and swept that Orc’s head from off its shoulders. He paused for a moment and looked to see how the others were doing, and if Dwalin and Durin had managed to come down from out of their trees and join the fray.