Part 9

They waited until dawn, camping close to the summit, concealed amongst the forest of rocks. Then, at first light, they descended back into the freezing mist and, carefully retracing their steps, returned to where—on the previous day—they had buried the five men.

Legolas climbed down to the Orcs, and performed the distasteful task of removing their armour and cleaning the blood from it with handfuls of snow. Haldir hauled up the pieces on an elven rope, and tied them onto the horses.

Then the four tramped back along the trail, reaching the valley again just before nightfall.

...

“The dark should help us,” said Legolas, fitting a battered breastplate over Eowyn’s leather corslet, and buckling its straps. He picked up the helm. “Ready, melmenya?”

She nodded.

He lowered the beaked helmet over her head. “Can you see?”

“Not really.”

“Well, whatever happens, do not raise the visor.”

“What if they ask questions?” asked Haldir, adjusting Sighard’s pauldrons.

“I have heard Orcs speak,” said the man. “I will do my best to sound like one.”

...

After dark, they filed down into the valley, the elves bound at the wrists (with elven rope), the ‘Orcs’ shoving them forwards with their filthy swords.

No one challenged them, and they seemed to approach the stronghold unnoticed, skirting the deep natural moat at its foot, and climbing the ramp up to its eastern face, where a flight of roughly-cut steps led to a cavernous entrance, black and forbidding.

“Stay close to me, melmenya,” said Legolas, softly.

He raised his hands in surrender, and slowly climbed the stairs and, with Eowyn lumbering up behind him, he stepped into the reivers’ fortress.