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Hænir was dismayed to see that the battle was not going well. More orcs had appeared and were swarming about like vermin. He saw young Nerin being held at bay and tried to help him, but three foul orcs dropped from the trees above him and attacked with their spears. Quickly lopping off the head of the first spear, he then did the same to its owner. The other two drove at him, howling and spitting with hate, but Hænir was the veteran of innumerable battles and was not to be dismayed by them. He brought his axe down on the head of the foremost orc and clove his head to the chin. Letting go of his axe where it had stuck, he caught the spear of the hindmost orc in his hands and wrenched it loose. A mighty punch sent the orc reeling into a tree, its face now a contorted mass of pain.
He wrenched his axe free from the bloody mess it had made and turned to look for more prey. But a cry came to him above the sounds of battle, sounding the retreat. Hænir glared at Bali with open dismay – the orcs were many, but so far none of the Dwarves had taken any harm and with stout hearts and steady hands could still hold sway. For a moment he considered ignoring the command, for Dwalin and Durin were still trapped behind a wall of orcs, but as he saw the others move off, a lifetime spent in military service took over and he went after them.
As they got back to the camp Kain came forward, demanding to know what had happened, and looking more than a little relieved to see his companions. They quickly told him about the orcs and about Dwalin and Durin’s dilemma. There was a prolonged silence after that, as the Dwarves shuffled their feet nervously – and, perhaps, a bit sheepishly. It grated upon Hænir’s conscience to have left two companions in danger. He looked at his axe, and at the engravings upon it that had been laid down by his ancestors to commemorate their honourable deeds. There was no cause this day for him to add to them.
Snarling at himself, Hænir faced the forest. Nearby, Bali and Nerin were standing bent over with their hands on their kness, catching their breath after their efforts in guarding their retreat. Before he had time to think, Hænir spoke to the leader of their expedition. “It doesn’t sit well, leaving those two to their deaths at the hands of those orcs. I’ve never before fled when a companion was in danger, and I can’t believe that I’ve gone and done it this time.” He paused for a moment, weighing his next words carefully. When he spoke next he did so with his feet planted apart and his hands clasped upon his axehead, which he held propped before him so that he looked like a statue of old. “We must go back and get them. Heedless were we in our first attack, and the orcs made use of that against us. If we take counsel now and proceed carefully, we might be able to gain the advantage over them!”
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