For now, the tale returns to Thorneth and the Fellowship of Last Hope, as it is not yet time to detail that final battle. The Company stayed with the Hobbits for two nights, and on the morning after that second night, they made preparations to resume their journey. Accompanying them were the twin brothers Broco and Falco Underhill, the hunters who had first taken Caranhelf to the nook where they hid the mare.
With two more members, the Company set out from the Weather Hills. The guidance of the Hobbits’ best hunters allowed them to cross the region stealthily, avoiding the locations where the brothers had seen the strange Men setting camp. Though this took them on roundabout routes which lengthened the journey, Thorneth deemed that it was worth the effort as a confrontation with these Men could cost them more than just time.
From the ruins now known as Ost Guruth, Thorneth initially planned to cross the swamp of Haragmar to avoid the road for as long as they could before they were forced upon it in order to use the Last Bridge. However, the Underhill brothers advised against this, saying that the marshes were infested by an evil presence. Neither Thorneth nor Dínendír had been in Haragmar before, and Imrathien only visited the swamp before the darkness of Angmar swept across these lands, so they deferred to the judgement of the Hobbits.
They rested within the ruins for a night before heading towards the Great East Road the next day. The Company did not travel on the road but instead followed its course along its borders, hoping to see any danger before they themselves were spotted. All this caution proved unneeded as there was not a figure to be seen upon the road, friend or foe.
Coming upon a hill overlooking the road and the River Hoarwell, Imrathien’s keen Elven eyes spotted a camp of Men on the other side of the bridge. They were dressed like members of the Corcur tribe, Hill-men who were known to have pledged their loyalty to Angmar, and they were positioned in a way to ambush any travellers passing over the bridge. The Company decided to set a camp of their own at the foot of that hill to observe whether there was a chance of sneaking by at nighttime.
Imrathien went ahead silently to scout and returned after the sun had fallen, saying, “The Men seem to be keeping a night watch. I do not fancy our chances of going unnoticed.”
“What of our chances in battle?” asked Thorneth.
“I see at least two dozen, while we are six, counting Metharafel and the brothers,” answered the Elven scout. “And we cannot expect the Hobbits to fight for us.”
“Can we swim the river?” Dínendír proposed.
At this the Underhills laughed and Broco said, “Not unless you wish to end up dashed against the rocks or in the sea!”
“This is the Hoarwell,” his brother Falco elaborated. “Its waters run too fast to swim, even for a Stoor.”
“Save for near its sources in the Ettenmoors,” added Imrathien, “but that is a long journey north, one which brings us closer to the realm of the Witch-king.”
“Then our only course is to fight,” Thorneth stated. “If we can take out their watchers swiftly, we may be able to ambush the-”
“There is another way,” Imrathien interjected. “We can wait. I was a scout for Imladris before Lin Giliath. The Elves of Rivendell watch the road up to the Last Bridge, for it is their connection to all the lands to the west. They will not tolerate this band waylaying anyone seeking to cross the bridge.”
“We are on an errand where haste is of importance,” the Ranger pointed out. “How long must we wait?”
“That I cannot say,” the Elven scout admitted. “It depends on many things I do not know. All I can say is that my kinsfolk in Imladris will not leave these Men unchecked.”
“The longer we take to reach Rivendell, the more danger the King may be in,” said Thorneth.
“But if we perish here, we would not ever reach Rivendell,” argued Dínendír. “I think it is best we wait, at least for a few days. Perhaps help will come from the Elves, perhaps these Men will move on.”
“Very well,” Thorneth agreed. “We shall wait.”
Once Thorneth made the choice to wait, the Company spent the night at their camp at the foot of the hill. On the following day, the Hobbits parted ways with them, having upheld their end of the bargain and safely navigated the Company through the Weather Hills without being detected. After another night at the camp, Thorneth began to grow restless.
When the sun started to descend on the second day, Thorneth left the camp to scout the enemy position for herself, so she may begin planning the best way to assault it with their small Company. As she was watching them, she saw horses approaching the camp. Her instinct was to make sure she was completely concealed, but when Thorneth dared another look, she realised that there were Elven riders mounted atop the steeds.
At their head was an Elf on a horse of grey. She was broader of shoulder than most, with a surcoat of green over fine mail and a hooded helm, and bore a shield slung on her back. As she led the charge towards the Corcur camp, the Men scattered, knowing they stood no chance. Most of them fled into the trees, though one group of four who were closest to the river chose to flee across the bridge.
Thorneth hid behind one of the bridge’s pillars and shot arrows in their direction as rapidly as they could. Her arrows did not hit any of the Men and did not need to. Since she was concealed, the Corcur had no idea it was a lone Ranger. Seeing only arrows flying at them from the other end of the bridge, they panicked and turned back, putting themselves right in the path of the Elves where they were swiftly ridden down.
Setting down her bow, Thorneth stepped out into the centre of the bridge with her arms raised to show the Elves that she meant no harm. As the horses slowed and then halted in front of her, she spoke, saying, “Hail! I am Thorneth of the House of Rochanar. I come on behalf of King Arvedui to speak with Lord Elrond of Rivendell.”
“Fleet fly your arrows, Thorneth of the House of Rochanar,” the Elf lowered her spear. “I am Gelilthor of Rivendell, and from thither we come, for we serve the Lord Elrond. What news do you bring?”
“Fornost Erain has fallen,” reported the Ranger. “The King calls for aid.”
“That is grave news. You have need of haste, and we shall provide escort, for the paths grow more full of peril. Have you a steed?”
“We have one steed, though there are several of us,” Thorneth paused and considered for a moment before proposing. “Dínendír can ride with me on Caranhelf. Imrathien can go with one of yours, she was from Rivendell as well and may even know some of your riders. The wolf should be able to keep up; she is used to chasing prey over long distances.”
Gelilthor nodded, the name of the Elf seeming familiar and putting to rest any fears about the legitimacy of Thorneth and her errand, “Well thought! Our horses are well able to carry double— yet if it please you—and those with me are willing, we shall lend you horses that your group may ride with greatest speed. Only a few of us need escort you, for I would not leave this path utterly unwatched.”
“If you have any horses to spare, it would certainly aid our journey, though I would not like to lessen your ability to watch this road. Caranhelf is a hale steed, and should easily carry two if need be.”
“I doubt her not, yet your errand is of urgency. Do as you deem best, but fear not to take our assistance.”
Gelilthor turned back to confer with the other Elven riders. In the meantime, the rest of Thorneth’s Company arrived, with Imrathien having seen the fighting from the hill near their camp. As she told them of the situation, Gelilthor returned with several others, saying, “I and these shall accompany you.”
Being far from the Witch-king’s armies upon the North Downs and now accompanied by an Elven escort, Thorneth decided to abandon stealth for speed. Taking two additional horses from the Elves, the Company rode on towards Rivendell in haste, seeking to make up for the time they lost waiting before the Last Bridge.
