[LOTR] Ch 6: Orcrist, Glamdring, & Sting

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At dawn the next morning, before the sun even crested the eastern horizon, Raine was already leading Talos, Kalev, Ishus, Alaina, and ten Rangers back to the spot where Eljer's group had encountered the trolls the night before.

They came fully armed, every gaze sharp with barely restrained hunger for treasure.

In the daylight, the woods looked almost peaceful.

During these hours, both orcs and trolls tended to hole up in their caves to sleep, so the journey in had been quiet and uneventful.

"My lord, up ahead—that's where we ran into the trolls last night."

One of the Rangers who'd accompanied Eljer pointed to a sheer stone wall, more than ten meters high.

Raine raised a hand and motioned for silence. "Spread out. Keep quiet."

They obeyed instantly, drawing blades, ready for a fight at the slightest sign.

As they approached, they spotted a massive cavern mouth at the base of the stone wall.

There were faint carvings around the entrance, most of them lost under moss. Through the green veil, a few Sindarin words could still be made out.

Sindarin, the Elven tongue, had once been the most widely spoken language in Middle-earth during the Elder Days. Now, aside from the Elven kindreds, few still understood it.

Fortunately, the Dúnedain had kept its script and speech alive, treating it almost as a native tongue.

Talos stepped forward, brushed away some moss, and squinted. "It says 'Storehouse of Provisions.' This used to be a grain depot of the Kingdom of Rhudaur."

"But now it belongs to something far darker," Raine said quietly. He signaled for the others to hold position, then motioned for Talos to follow as the two slipped toward the cave.

Bones littered the stone floor, and a foul stench clung to the air, making both men grimace.

As they moved deeper, the low drum of snoring reached their ears. In the dim light filtering in from outside, they made out three massive shapes sprawled across the cave hall, fast asleep.

Raine and Talos exchanged a look and retreated just as quietly as they had come—without disturbing so much as a pebble.

Once outside, Raine scanned the forest around the cliff base.

Thick, towering trees filled the glade, dense canopies blotting out most of the light.

He thought for a moment, then gave his order: "Don't alert the trolls yet. Everyone up the trees. Trim the branches around the cave mouth—we need sunlight to hit that entrance. Wait for my signal."

"Yes, sir."

The Rangers moved like shadows, climbing trees with effortless grace. They drew their knives and began cutting, taking care not to make noise.

Two hours later, ropes had been tied to every weakened branch. A single pull would snap them clean through.

Once everything was ready, Raine met Kalev's eyes and nodded. Then the two men strode straight into the cave without hesitation.

They crept up beside one of the sleeping trolls. Kalev slowly raised his war axe, took aim at its neck, and suddenly roared, "Haaa!"

The axe came down with a wet crack. The troll's head rolled away, its huge body twitching in blind reflex.

The sound jolted the other two trolls awake.

Raine and Kalev turned and bolted without a moment's pause.

"Dúnedain?! They killed William!"

"Filthy thieves!"

Howling with rage at the sight of their fallen kin, the two trolls charged after them, barreling out of the cave with no thought at all for danger.

"Stop right there!" roared one—the one they called Tom—as he snatched up a boulder, ready to hurl it.

But a voice rang out from behind them. "Face the judgment of the sun!"

The branches above the cave all snapped with a series of sharp cracks as the ropes were pulled.

Sunlight poured through the canopy like a flood, washing over the trolls in a brilliant cascade. They shrieked as if set aflame.

They tried to flee, but it was too late.

Creatures like trolls and orcs were born before sun or moon ever touched Middle-earth. They feared sunlight with primal terror.

And trolls—more than any others—turned to stone under its burning gaze.

Before Raine and the others' eyes, the two trolls stiffened and slowly petrified, their massive bodies frozen forever in expressions of horror.

The Rangers dropped from the trees, landing lightly on the forest floor.

"Let's have a look inside," Raine said.

Torches were lit, and the whole group entered the cave. Troll William's severed head still bled onto the stone as they stepped past it into the main hall.

The chamber was vast, clearly carved out by deliberate hands.

Shelves lined the walls, each stacked with sacks and crates of grain.

Gold and treasure carpeted the floor—copper coins, silver bars, jeweled ornaments, fine crafts, and in the corners, jars of solid gold stacked like firewood.

Weapons hung from the stone walls: quivers, longbows, spears, swords, chainmail, lamellar armor, plate armor—enough gear to outfit more than a hundred men.

The Rangers forgot all about the stench. Gasps echoed through the cavern.

"By the Kings…"

"Look at all this food—we could live off it for months!"

"And the gear and gold, that's the best day in my life."

Raine wasn't looking at the coins. His gaze had locked onto two swords mounted high on the wall, both in ornate scabbards with gemstone-inlaid hilts, radiating a quiet, ancient power.

He stepped forward, took down both blades—and a short sword beside them.

These were the very three legendary weapons found by Thorin's company in the original tale.

One was Orcrist, forged by the High Elves of Gondolin in the First Age. In Quenya, its name meant "Goblin-Cleaver," a blade of great renown.

The other was Glamdring—"Foe-Hammer," once wielded by Turgon, King of Gondolin, an heirloom fit for royalty.

And the short sword… the very one that would one day be known as Sting, glowing with blue warning at the approach of orcs.

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